molly.com
Monday 25 October 2004
slice dice
LIFE OUT IN a flash, like that. Spookiest thing I’ve ever seen.
I was working for a hobby store, where every little boy’s dream was realized in the speed of a slot car, in the perfect ascent of an RC helicopter. The rough curves energized me as I painted them silver and breathed in that rare air. I could make those slot cars take corners like none of those boys.
My boss, oh god this guy was so enormous he couldn’t even stand up. He was in a wheelchair. He had a wife that was fat but no way as fat as him. It always made me feel bad because I love them both so much. That boss of mine, he was one smart motherfucker.
I was taking a break. If I’d been smoking all those years it would have been a Camel. But I wasn’t smoking. I was just standing out front of the hobby shop. It was 9:00 pm or so, my boss and his wife inside. I sipped a coffee from the Circle K next door. I was looking at the street.
There was a couple walking across the road. Both too skinny and hyped up, man it made me so sad. Then, I saw a yellow car coming up the street.
The kid in the yellow car hit them.
Time did that stupid predictable thing and stood still. I could take a million shots with my camera and try to explain it. You know. The guy getting hit. The guy’s body flying up; the guy’s eyes looking down; the guy falling on the car’s hood; the guy bouncing off the car’s hood.
The guy on the ground.
His life, out. In a flash, like that. Spookiest thing I’ve ever seen, when he died like that. His life there one second, not there the next.
Slice, dice. His girlfriend got off easy because they reattached her leg. I wonder where my old boss is. That dude was one smart mother.
Filed under: poetry & fiction
Posted by: Molly | 9:41 pm |
October 25th, 2004 at 9:58 pm
Wow. Or - excuse the pun - is that ouch.
Seriously - until this (and I’m 46 years old) I always joked that poetry had to rhyme. Not anymore. I may still strugglee with miter (or is it mitre?) but not with emotion and tone.
I’ve always had a problem with talking about my dad’s death. You see, the only way to describe the whole thing is - he died a good death. WTF is a “good” death? Well, “that guy on the ground” was the antithesis of that.
Thanks. Sincerely. As deep a thanks as I could say.
October 26th, 2004 at 11:14 am
Dave: interesting comment.
I wouldn’t call that poetry, though. More along the lines of prose, or as a college professor I had used to refer to very short, quickly written fiction, “Sudden Fiction.”
This is not to say the experience was fiction. I actually did witness this. However, I’ve embellished the scenario a bit, just because a writer can
August 16th, 2007 at 1:33 am
You guys rock! It’s just amazing http://www.2africanart.com - We’ve seen amazing results with African art already.
October 22nd, 2007 at 9:55 pm
Whoa, that is intense! You actually saw all that? I don’t believe I would ever sleep again if I actually witness an incident of that calbre. Brr!
January 29th, 2008 at 1:30 pm
thanx
March 30th, 2008 at 11:22 pm
thanks
April 9th, 2008 at 5:34 am
Nice content! thx
May 1st, 2008 at 8:18 am
it is easy to find it on google