Ok, let's figure out where I am. It looks like a bathroom. A dirty one with graffiti scratched onto the fixtures. No I don't like that, its too cliché. I'm in a field, a grassy field. Its not a mirror I'm looking in, it's a river or perhaps the banks of a lake. I'm dirtier than I thought, and cold. Oh no, what time is it? There is a crumpled receipt in my pocket. The early morning light flies like a dagger and I have to squint to see the writing on the paper. This receipt isn't helping me, its all faded. I crumple it back up and put it in my pocket.
Where is my cell phone? That's too convenient that I don't have my cell phone. Everyone has their cell phones with them these days, that shouldn't be the deterring factor. There it is. I pull out my phone and recognize the scratches across the screen from that time I'd dropped it while bike riding. That's right! I have a bike, its green with yellow stickers on the frame. And there it is leaning against that tree over there.
I walk through the grass, morning dew flicking onto my shoes. Why would I be wearing these shoes out here? Its far too uncomfortable, I mean I am in the middle of the wilderness or...this field isn't too far from town. It's a park and there are people jogging and walking their dogs. Good thing I have my bike, that'll make getting wherever I'm going faster. Where am I going? What time is it? Oh no, I have less time than I thought!
I pull my bike up and fling my leg over the bar. I press my foot down on the pedal and the engine revs loudly. Whoops, had it in neutral. I slide the shifter into drive and pull away from the curb. This car may be a rust bucket, but at least it gets me where I'm going. Man, how long have I had this car? I remember buying it, I was so excited to finally have my own car. I was able to take my girlfriend out on our anniversary. I remember the cork popping and the champagne flowing over. I remember kissing her as if watching myself in silhouette against a full moon. Her beautiful brown eyes. And the evening passes and she looks at her watch and she says she has to go and I look at her watch and I remember. Only an hour left?!
I look up from the radio clock on the dashboard just a moment too late and I slam into the car in front of me. My head whips forward and impacts the steering wheel. I black out for a moment from the pain and awake just as I hit the floor of the bathroom. Through swollen eyes I look up at the man who had just hit me. He spits at me and walks away.
I pull myself up and look in the mirror. My face itches so I scratch it. I pull my hand away and see blood on my fingertips. Okay, so I'm injured. I really should have ducked. But I was in such a rush to get to her room that I didn't see the low hanging sign. A nurse sits up in her chair and asks me if I'm okay and I swallow my pride and say yes. Where is room 312?
I'm by her side kissing her and setting the flowers down on the bedside table. She looks beautiful, her beautiful brown eyes. I place my had on her stomach and feel our child and she screams and the doctor blurs and I sweat and I'm holding my child for the first time in my life and she's beautiful, her beautiful brown eyes. And the clock behind her ticks and time is running out.
I grab my bike once again and lift her onto it. She likes the pink ribbons on the handle bars. She smiles as I give her a push and she's riding on her own. I smile at my wife on the porch. I kiss her and as a silhouette against the moon. The coffee mug falls in slow motion and she shoves me and she screams and I turn and the car screeches and the bike crumples and the coffee mug shatters.
The mirror shatters and now my fist is bleeding as well as my face. Well he deserved it, he should never have talked about her that way. Who would blame me for swinging first? Why does she blame me? Its terrible, its unthinkably dreadful but why would she blame me? Her beautiful brown eyes were oceans of sorrow. I try to kiss her and she pulls away and she screams and she hits and I cry and I hold my child for the first time in my life but the clock says ten minutes and I lose my grip as the car slams to a stop and the bike crumples.
Ten minutes? I was wrong, hours were minutes. The panic slowed my sight. The mirror is not a mirror, its a lake, its a river, in a park, but I'm staring at the surface from underneath and there are five seconds left. The panic is so intense and there are four seconds left. I feel the impact of the punch and there are three seconds left. I kiss my wife silhouetted against the moon and there are two seconds left. I hold my daughter for the first time in my life and there is one second left. I close my eyes and time is up.
Synapse was written by Daniel Weinell and illustrated by Steven Weinell.
make this into a film NOW. This might be surreal, but it makes perfect sense. I see this as a short film.
ReplyDeletedeath again?
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