EmeraldCityBlues
Master o' Disaster
This was a short piece I wrote a few months ago during a creative writing camp I attended at Richard Hugo House, a Seattle writing community (and an awesome place). I titled it Airbag, because it always reminds me of the song of the same name by Radiohead. The subtitle is meant to give you at least some sense of setting, although I'm kind of trying to keep the reader in the dark as to exactly what is going on. And leave some questions/comments, if you feel so inclined.
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In the moment before impact, spectators later reported that everything seemed to hang still- the vessel, the glass, the concrete…
Movement was nearly impossible, and there was the general feeling of treading through thick, icy water. Then everything came back into place. The rubble collided with the crowded streets like gravel hitting an anthill.
As the vessel made its union with the street, it happened again- spectators seemed to have a slow motion view of the craft flipping over frontwards, balanced, for a few milliseconds, perfectly on it’s front end, slowly rotating like the dancer in some chaotic ballet. Then slamming down on it’s back, scraping and sliding across the asphalt. In the final moments of this phenomenon there was the general feeling of a pulse, a wave of pressure bearing down on the eyes, ears and lungs.
Once the phenomenon was over, and eyes slowly and cautiously peeled open, two major revelations were made.
The first was that the vessel was gone. There had been no explosion, no great flash of light, but all that remained was a long streak of blood and broken glass along the asphalt.
The second revelation was that all digital watches in the crowd had somehow been altered. Some were turned days back, others hours ahead. Some had ceased to work at all, showing only broken symbols, fragments of real numbers.
For a while, the remaining spectators only stood there. A nervous silence had taken hold. Even now, no one was really sure what they had just seen- in a few days the digital news archives would be their only reminder. But for now they stood, strangers to each other, but united in their witnessing of an event none of them could explain.
Then, one by one, they turned, wandered off, and lived out their lives.
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In the moment before impact, spectators later reported that everything seemed to hang still- the vessel, the glass, the concrete…
Movement was nearly impossible, and there was the general feeling of treading through thick, icy water. Then everything came back into place. The rubble collided with the crowded streets like gravel hitting an anthill.
As the vessel made its union with the street, it happened again- spectators seemed to have a slow motion view of the craft flipping over frontwards, balanced, for a few milliseconds, perfectly on it’s front end, slowly rotating like the dancer in some chaotic ballet. Then slamming down on it’s back, scraping and sliding across the asphalt. In the final moments of this phenomenon there was the general feeling of a pulse, a wave of pressure bearing down on the eyes, ears and lungs.
Once the phenomenon was over, and eyes slowly and cautiously peeled open, two major revelations were made.
The first was that the vessel was gone. There had been no explosion, no great flash of light, but all that remained was a long streak of blood and broken glass along the asphalt.
The second revelation was that all digital watches in the crowd had somehow been altered. Some were turned days back, others hours ahead. Some had ceased to work at all, showing only broken symbols, fragments of real numbers.
For a while, the remaining spectators only stood there. A nervous silence had taken hold. Even now, no one was really sure what they had just seen- in a few days the digital news archives would be their only reminder. But for now they stood, strangers to each other, but united in their witnessing of an event none of them could explain.
Then, one by one, they turned, wandered off, and lived out their lives.