As I was speeding off for the jam session 4 hours ago, I met with an accident. Actually I was met with the debris of an accident, but if I said that it'd kill the intensity now, wouldn't it.
There was no warning. No earth-shattering crash. No dramatic metallic crunch or screech of tyres. I just saw a motorcylist doing a Superman from the right lane towards the left. And he rolled. And rolled. And there were a lot of loose scraps of metal and plastic and (bones) and tins (what the heck was the motorcylist doing with so many tins? siphoned illegal gasoline? biscuits for the family?)... and my first thought was "oooh who's the idiot littering on a busy road". Yeah. Idiotically funny, but that really was my first thought.
Then everything happened in slow-mo. The car to my right was brought to a halt. The car behind crashed into it. I crashed into debris. The motorcylist was still rolling and screaming on my left. Thank goodness there wasn't any vehicle in the left lane. I heard a sickening crunch as something went under the front. I was relieved (slightly) that it wasn't a meaty crunch, but a metallic one. The rolling guy was half-crawling (scrambling, more like it), half-sitting on the shoulder of the road, still screaming. Sounded more like rage than pain.
I realised my car was stopped dead-centre diagonally across a busy road. A van screeched to a stop beside me and the driver glared. Then, upon satisfying himself that I wasn't the one responsible in mowing down his "clan member", he came out of the van to check on the motorcylist. Traffic resumed as normal. My forehead started to throb violently. Then I remembered mashing my face into the steering wheel when I had to perform a sudden stop with the car at 100km/h. I could still smell burning rubber. The throbbing was evil. And people were already blaring at me to get moving. Fucking inconsiderate shitheads. I took a last glance at the motorcylist (who was very much alive and animated), at the debris on the road and some splatters of blood, at the cars on my right (hey, didn't the first car just mowed the motorcylist down? or did he fell down himself? or did he hit the divider? I guess that would remain a mystery forever more) hauling ass... then I left. My hands were shaking. Or maybe that was my shook-up brains misleading me.
I only got down to inspect the car upon reaching a more secluded area. Everything looked alright, except for the registration plate with half of it missing. I touched it gingerly, and the rest fell to the floor in a clutter. Dang. Oh well. At least I didn't have someone's head landing on my windshield. Now that would be traumatic. For the head. Hmmm. Should I start worrying about my own head?
There was no warning. No earth-shattering crash. No dramatic metallic crunch or screech of tyres. I just saw a motorcylist doing a Superman from the right lane towards the left. And he rolled. And rolled. And there were a lot of loose scraps of metal and plastic and (bones) and tins (what the heck was the motorcylist doing with so many tins? siphoned illegal gasoline? biscuits for the family?)... and my first thought was "oooh who's the idiot littering on a busy road". Yeah. Idiotically funny, but that really was my first thought.
Then everything happened in slow-mo. The car to my right was brought to a halt. The car behind crashed into it. I crashed into debris. The motorcylist was still rolling and screaming on my left. Thank goodness there wasn't any vehicle in the left lane. I heard a sickening crunch as something went under the front. I was relieved (slightly) that it wasn't a meaty crunch, but a metallic one. The rolling guy was half-crawling (scrambling, more like it), half-sitting on the shoulder of the road, still screaming. Sounded more like rage than pain.
I realised my car was stopped dead-centre diagonally across a busy road. A van screeched to a stop beside me and the driver glared. Then, upon satisfying himself that I wasn't the one responsible in mowing down his "clan member", he came out of the van to check on the motorcylist. Traffic resumed as normal. My forehead started to throb violently. Then I remembered mashing my face into the steering wheel when I had to perform a sudden stop with the car at 100km/h. I could still smell burning rubber. The throbbing was evil. And people were already blaring at me to get moving. Fucking inconsiderate shitheads. I took a last glance at the motorcylist (who was very much alive and animated), at the debris on the road and some splatters of blood, at the cars on my right (hey, didn't the first car just mowed the motorcylist down? or did he fell down himself? or did he hit the divider? I guess that would remain a mystery forever more) hauling ass... then I left. My hands were shaking. Or maybe that was my shook-up brains misleading me.
I only got down to inspect the car upon reaching a more secluded area. Everything looked alright, except for the registration plate with half of it missing. I touched it gingerly, and the rest fell to the floor in a clutter. Dang. Oh well. At least I didn't have someone's head landing on my windshield. Now that would be traumatic. For the head. Hmmm. Should I start worrying about my own head?
2 comments:
I'm more interested to know what happened at the jamming session.... hahaha
kidding, well, thank your lucky stars that nothing serious happened yeah, aside from the massacre of durians a few days ago at a petrol station...haha..
cheers!
Oh, you are MORE than welcome to drop in on our next session on Monday night. PLEASE come. I really need someone to tell them that they're really going too loud. Our sessions have become a manic competition of who's loudest. And I'm slowly, slowly losing my voice...
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