What Happens After Impact

And in that instant

I am aloft in a way I've never known before, a growing cushion of air rising to fill the space between my skin and my seat, the wheels and the road, my head snapping back with effortless, eyeblink ferocity and colliding with the headrest (the crush of my hair against leather, pressing through the foam to touch the steel within) then a whipcrack snap forward, vertebrae compressing and releasing like pistons firing at neural speed, the engine still running strong and loud and my heart surging with adrenaline and

in the periphery of my vision I can see the earth spin and turn, as if the axis of the world has shifted

I think: how odd

and the sound, the sound, it's incredible, that terrible squeal and crush of metal bending and tearing, iron wrenching from iron and glass and the compression of air in my lungs and those seconds - one, and two, and the long heartbeat stretch to three - when it all dissolves to echo and gravity fades to myth and I become aware that I am still pressing down on the accelerator, as though I might catch up to this impossibly swift rotation of earth and sky and in matching its speed slow its pace and return to the world I'd known and all I hear is the engine the wheels freed from the restraints of physics straining to catch hold on this cool evening air and

then a corner connects - I cannot tell which one, and in not understanding I lose some illusion of control - and there is a new eruption of torque and velocity, of moving so many different ways at once, and I am the tail of a kite arcing and spiraling in a strong wind, diving and soaring and fighting against myself and this thin brace of fabric that cuts deep across my waist and the forgiving skin where neck and shoulder meet

where you had rested your head, seeking solace and comfort and this

is all

it's all happening so fast

and the adrenaline fills me with strength and fury and my arms and chest swell — with will, with purpose, with terror and defiance and

something catches

and I feel my leg twist and churn beneath me, the thick muscle of my thigh stretching and turning upon itself and in a flash I think of the nest of tendons and ligaments like ivy wrapping 'round a trunk of bone (I imagine it wood, bending but unbowed) and then something breaks free and I feel it rise through my chest that insane rush of pain desperately escaping my body and

the windshield

the glass dissolves into shooting stars

and it is beautiful and I am screaming and

...

Comments

[Mr Lady]

I am breathless.

I don't know how you manage to encapsulate so many different emotions into one little story. I don't know how you can make someone feel terror and intrigue and tenderness at the exact same time. I don't know how you've found a way to make your readers physically experience the exact same phenomena your character is.

All I know is that you better not ever stop doing it.

Masterfully done, good sir.

[Silver]

"something catches"

that got me. I gasped out loud. well done.

[fridita (just a grrl)]

This is amazing...

Thank you.

[Jett]

Every now and then something I read blends poetry and prose seamlessly and I'm pretty amazed.

This is one of those Somethings.

[Palinode]

You could bend this piece around and tape it together so it just loops around and around, replaying the moment.

[Skye]

There's writing then there's something that reaches further than putting pen to paper to be read. Thank you for this experience.

There's a touch of Lee Child in the way you grabbed on in the opening sentence and never let go for an instant.

[Trout Towers]

I think I'm gaping.

The bit about "where you had rested your head" was a nice way to rip the reader's heart out along the way. Nicely played.

ps No one could write this but you. Classic TB, there.

[foradifferentkindofgirl (fadkog)]

Dude.

I mean, I don't even know what else to say. OK , this. Damn. That's what I was thinking through this. Damn. Especially at that 'where you had rested your head' business. And again with '...'

Damn. Just that.

[DawnBlanchfield]

fuck... can I say 'fuck' here? cause that's all I've got. a long drawn out breathy fuck. and then I remember to start breathing again.

[sweetsalty kate]

I'm so tiresome and predictable. I'm seeing this all metaphorically and I'm thinking yeah, it's just like that. This is shocking and it reads like a dance. I love this.

[EarnestGirl]

evocative is an understatement.

visceral is closer.

certainly, you flashed me back. to a highway. and a patch of black ice. and the physics of speed. what was most curious (in {lucky} retrospect) was the moment just *before* the impact. the sudden flash of clarity: put your feet back down on the floor. check seat belt. move that glass bottle. breathe. and then those little hooks of snow that just kept on flying out of the darkness toward the windshield...

[Laurie]

This is one of those times when I remember my luck at calling such incredibly talented writers my friends and colleagues.

[Carolyn Online]

I loved reading that.

That is all.

[Homemaker Man]

I'll be carrying around that image of the bone and tendons as tree and ivy for at least a week. And I can't believe how effortlessly you put someone else important in the car.

[Suebob]

Good stuff.

[Pam]

Yikes. And Gosh.

[Kevin (Always Home and Uncool)]

This is why I'm only reading everyone's piece after I wrote mine.

I'm dizzy.

With jealously.

[Holmes]

Yee-yee-youch. You've a gift for the tension, my man. I was tense through this whole thing. Fantastic.

[toquegirl]

I let all my breath out in one big puff when I finished reading the last words.

I'd been holding it the whole time.