I’d been walking for, seemingly, hours. The breeze blowing gently against my face. My lips where chapped through dehydration. I was resolute in my mission: I was going to make it this time.
Suddenly, over the din of the metropolis came a strange sound. A chopping, whirring sound; that of a helicopter’s rotor blades, but below me.
There’s no way that makes sense.
I carried on walking. The sound of my foot falls reverberating in my head. I became aware of the sound of my breathing. I was only breathing through one nostril, the walls of which where vibrating as the air passed through. My mind began to wander. The underground helicopter noise, my breathing, my foot falls; it was all becoming to much for me.
I fell to my knees with my hands over my ears. People stopped and stared at me, their eyes piercing my chest. I was in pain, and these people only cared about the street based side show freak.
“Why is he doing that, Mummy?”
“He’s weird, don’t look at him.”
I rose to my feet and ran as fast as they would carry me.
I don’t care where, just away from these people and that sound
My heart was pounding when my legs finally came to a stop. They had been going, seemingly automatically, for over and hour. I found myself sitting in a small alley, behind some bins, still holding my ears.
slowly, I removed my hands. There was no helicopter sound and no heavy nasal breathing, I was safe.
See. I can write pulp, too. In fact, it seems to be the only thing I can write at the minute. 260 words, too? Maybe this can be a new thing for me. Maybe not.