From Abby’s writing project.
I started to sing.
I sang a love song about two soul mates and one of them getting hit by a train.
I sang it in the tune of my least favorite pop song, the one that was on the radio seven times a day.
I smiled, wind blowing through the spaces between my teeth.
The leaves were rustling all around now, running along the street with me like little bugs crawling away from the sky. Useless running away.
I stopped and leaned over, gulping mouthfuls of air.
Closing my eyes, I felt my head roll around and it felt good like it could fall off of my stick neck at any second.
I let it float, maybe it was taking me away. It felt like it.
And then I fell over.
It wasn’t an accidental topple, but a impactful shove forward, made by a larger force.
I didn’t try to get up, I just layed on the asphalt helplessly. I was helpless and I wanted it to stay that way.
My vision flickered out slowly like a burning television screen and I fell into a pit inside my head, suffocating in the darkness.
I heard a car door slam from the bottom of the pit.
“Fuck. Are you alright?” It was the light voice of a man, concerned but not overpowering.
I smiled inside the pit because I couldn’t talk.
I tried to open my mouth but man, I was so fucking lazy that I just let it go.
He put his hand on my back and then my wrist, checking for a pulse.
“Okay. I’m going to call 911,” he said, even though I was certain he thought I couldn’t hear him.
I tried to yell at him from the bottom of the pit and say I was okay, I really was. I was actually pretty relaxed and feeling good.
I waved my hands, making it known that I didn’t need his help, but I couldn’t see him from inside the giant pit, so I was sure he couldn’t see me.
I heard him rustle through his pockets, looking for a phone.
“No.” I finally spoke!
I smiled to myself in the pit, proud.
He stopped looking.
I made little mumbling noises, restating the fact that I didn’t need help.
He gently put his hand on my head.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
I didn’t twitch.
“I think I’m fine,” I said slowly.
Yes, I was fine.
I got up from the ground, shaking dirt off from the pit.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
“I hit you with my car. Not very hard, but still…”
I looked behind me and saw a small green car, dented in some places but smooth and shiny in others.
He stared at me for a while, at my eyes, under them where the rings layed.
“You still don’t look so good. I think I should take you to a hospital,” he said.
“No, I’m probably just depressed, that’s all. I’m not broken.”
He put his hand on my shoulder like he was trying to keep me from falling, but I didn’t even feel myself swaying.
“Come on, let’s go.”
I didn’t say anything else, I was too dazed. Or maybe I just wanted to be led somewhere. Wasn’t leaving the plan anyway?
He opened my door for me and then shut it in my face, cold metal vibrations sticking in my head.
He got in and immediately started driving, slow and concentrated.
I looked down. My feet were in a box of carrots.
“Why do you have so many carrots?” I asked.
He looked away from the road for a split second, almost disoriented like he really really couldn’t be distracted while driving and it was a bad idea to do so.
“Oh, I just, uh wanted carrots I guess.” He shrugged a little.
I took my feet out of the box, putting one on each side.
“But this is a shit load of carrots, dude.”
He nodded. He was very sure of his decisions.
“I’ll eat them,” he said.
I nodded, settled with it.
It was silent for a while and we took a couple long, curvy roads, the trees getting brighter orange and yellow as we went.
Was he still driving to the hospital?
“What’s your name?” I asked, realizing that probably wasn’t polite. But I hated introducing myself first and I didn’t know if he would ever start.
He looked a little thrown off by my question but answered it anyway.
We both nodded awkwardly.
He turned the wheel.
The curves in the road were so drawn out that I thought they were fake. He was making them.
“What about you?” he asked, staring at the road.
He put the two names together, raising his eyebrows; he had long eyelashes. Or maybe they were just dark and sticky like he’d used mascara, except they were that way naturally. That could get uncomfortable, I thought.
“That’s interesting,” he said, trying to sound interested. I think he was, he just had a strange way of showing it.
“Yeah, my parents met in train driving school.”
He laughed a little.
“My parents met at some meeting for Quakers,” he said.
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