Part Two (Part One below)

I sat on my couch watching the morning news and drinking a cup of coffee, lots of cream lots of sugar, as was my custom. I sat there in a daze, probably shocked from the night before. As the caffeine kicked in my disbelief grew more and more. How had I jumped off my bike at all, not to mention I had somehow managed to clear a speeding minivan. Then I remembered the the strange glowing and rushed to the bathroom mirror.
I debated calling in sick to work, but I didn’t relish the idea of having spent the better half of the previous day grading papers to not return them to their owners. By the way, thank god for waterproof backpacks.
I grabbed a granola bar and slung the still damp backpack over my shoulder and headed out the door. Just as a turned back to flick off the TV I caught a glimpse of the big red ball I had seen in the sky the night before then the station cut to a commercial. I stood for a minute waiting to see what they had to say but I couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Last night’s violent destruction of my mode of transportation left me with no other choice but to ride the city bus.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy the fragrant smells of urine, or the panhandlers at every stop, or the constant tardiness of the bus itself, I just prefer to ride my bike. So I was forced to leave my apartment so I would be on time for the bus that would surly be late giving the bum on the corner just enough time to come ask me for a cigarette before dropping his pants and pissing on the wall behind me. And all I have at the end of the dark tunnel that is my commute to work is a classroom full of hormone infused teenagers. Nice.

My first class begins with me handing back their papers on what the civil war was about. Almost every single one of them wrote that it was about slavery. So almost everyone of them got a B, despite my burning desire to write F on every single one of the pages that had a thesis consisting of ‘The fundamental reason for the Civil War was slavery.’ Really burns my toast. I spent a whole week explaining how slavery was only a part of it.
Anyway, I like to stand at the front of the class for a few minutes after returning a test or a paper, just let the kids stew. I stand there as if I am the disappointed parent, after a minute of awkward silence only interrupted by the occasional nervous shuffling of papers I give my class the same speech I give every year about how I am disappointed by a few of the students efforts, but on the whole it was a good turn out. Which is of course a lie, but the principle has been on me recently about low student moral and grades in my class. A total bureaucrat.
I repeat the routine for my other two US History classes and then assign a ten page paper to my Comparative World History class to the audible dismay of my students. I don’t get it they signed up for the damn AP class, they knew it was supposed to be college level. I suppose its because all the other teachers treat it like any other class.
The day wraps up and I decide to walk the ten miles home. Portropolis can be a beautiful city if you take the time to look for it. I wasn’t looking and so I only saw the dirty side walk and the malicious drivers. I kept seeing the maroon minivan in the corner of my right eye but each time I turned there was nothing there.
My temperature had felt normal all day and I was glad to have put last night’s oddities behind me but when I stopped into a local coffee shop for a cup of joe I caught the rest of the news report I had missed that morning.
“Last night a large meteor broke through the earth’s atmosphere, since then it has circled the earth twice. Scientists have said that the object, refusing to label it as a meteorite, isn’t technically orbiting the earth as it is inside the earths atmosphere and thus moving of its on accord.” The man on the screen had tidy blonde hair greased back with flashing pearly whites. “The meteorite, or object, is moving too fast for anyone to get close to it, but as yet it has not caused any problems and is maintaining a healthy distance from the earth. Survival junkies known to many as ‘preppers’ have already gone into hiding. Claiming the earth to be at its end.”
I got my coffee, emptied half the bottle of cream at the counter and added a generous portion of sugar before heading back out onto the street.
I taught on the very edge of Portropolis and the ten mile walk back home took me into a primarily residential part of the city. Enough so that I was able to see the big red ball fly across the sky. It was closer today and it didn’t appear to be a ball anymore. More of an oval. The oval came to a stop about three quarters of the way across my line of sight, paused for a moment, then plummeted straight down.

The earth shook and I was knocked off my feet. A car going by jumped over on the road a good three feet before its tires came screaming back to the ground as the driver slammed on the breaks. I picked my self up off the ground and reached for my phone. This time I knew I needed to call 911. Shit, I should probably call the President himself. But my phone screen was black. No matter how many times I hit the little black button at the bottom the damn thing wouldn’t turn on.
I was standing there, mindlessly mashing the on button when the dust wave hit me and knocked me down again.


Part One

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, that’s not wholly true and hopefully I’m not that cliche. It was raining and it was getting dark. I was on my bike headed hoe from work. I had stayed late at the Waddling Duck Cafe grading papers.
So, in case you had grand ideas after that first epic “It was a dark and stormy night,” you now know that it really wasn’t stormy, it was only kinda sorta dark and that I am some sort of teacher. And hey, remember that bike I am riding? It ain’t no harley, but it does have twelve speeds.
But don’t forget Indiana Jones was an educator.
Anyway, I’m pedaling my lame and boring self back home, its a ride I know well and have selected because it has a bike lane all the way to my house. Today I can hardly see, squinting my eyes against the not stormy rain and the almost dark makes the lines hard to see. Sill I’ve made the same ride countess times and in these conditions half a hundred times.
Then the sky flashed a bright red.
I could feel my insides being to heat up as if someone had reached inside me and turned the knob to up to broil. Looking up into the sky I saw a huge ball of, well, red. I would say fire but it didn’t appear to be burning, but it was obviously moving because of the glowing trail of red that was left behind it, sort of like waving a sparkler through the air on the Fourth of July, but much much bigger.
My body continued to heat up until I could hear the rain sizzle and evaporate on my skin. Then it stopped, I felt cool but I tingled all over as if my whole body had fallen asleep instead of just a leg or a foot. Everything in me felt disconnected and far away.
The light from, what I suppose was some kind of comet began to die away and then was barley visible behind the cloud cover.
I had just been sitting too long, I told myself, the sudden activity caused the burning feeling in me and the red ball, comet, thing was a symptom of increased blood flow to the head. Reading the same damn history report two hundred times will cause a lack of brain activity for anyone.
Thats when I heard the horn.
How long had I been staring up into the sky?
Too long. The maroon minivan, god ugly as it was, was bearing down on me. My body seemed to spaz and snap on the inside as everything reconnected again. For a split second I was whole again, but the maroon minivan had other plans.
I stared down the headlights racing toward me from my right. Well, I thought to myself, the kids didn’t kill me after all.
Then that knob was turned up again, I heated up, faster this time, the van was mere feet away when I leaped up from the pedals, kicked off the seat of my bike and watched wide eyed and dismayed as my bike was smashed to bits below me.
It was no harley, but I really liked it. It had twelve speeds.
There was a horrible crashing sound and the squeal of breaks seemed to finally reach my mind though they had long since found my ears. Time slowed down for me, as time seems to do every so often, as I watched the sudden and rapid dismantling of my beloved twelve speeder from ten feet in the air.
The minivan went by and I dropped from my apex along with the rain, splashing down in a shallow puddle. My body temperature was still high but it was bearable, like a low simmer rather than a rolling boil.
I stood up looking around, trying to get my bearings. Tall tress, a wholesome dark green were thick on either side of the intersection, the traffic light above me changed color, first yellow, then red reflected in the ever growing puddles all around me.
The only car in sight was the minivan, now stopped cockeyed on the far end of the intersection. No driver had yet emerged. Probably sitting there preparing for the carnage outside, or perhaps this wasn’t their first run in with a cyclist and they were already on the phone with 911.
Should I Call 911? I thought to myself reaching into my pocket and pulling out my phone. Eight fifteen read the digital display.
The door to the minivan opened and out stepped a woman. SHe had vlonde hair and must have been in her mid to late twenties, but it was hard to tell with all the mascara running down from her eyes. I could hear here sobs over the soft pattering of rain.
She stood there staring at me sobbing. The puddles changed from red to green to yellow and back to red before she spoke.
“Did I hit you?”
“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure it was my fault.”
She looked as if she tried to smile but instead croaked out another sob. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” I answered.
We still stood on opposite sides of the intersection, I think she thought I was a ghost.
“I don’t really know how, I jumped, but I don’t know how. Here, let me give you my information.” I said reaching into my back pocket.
She let out the loudest cry yet, “No, No!” she said fleeing back to her damaged van and driving away. Reversing out of the wreckage that was my bike.
I stood unmoving. The puddles began their color cycle again but this time I saw something different. In between the red, yellow, and green I could see myself and I was glowing, it was faint, but I was glowing.
I picked up the now zero speed remains of my bike. It was a crumpled wreck of aluminum with one wheel hanging loose and the other nowhere to be seen.
The walk home was long and wet I was soaked through by the early spring showers, but never once was I cold. I had watched the faint flow emanating from me die away as I walked but the heat never left.
As soon as I got home I striped off my wet clothes and went straight to bed.

The Idea

So I had an idea to get myself motivated to write by giving myself weekly deadlines. This blog is that deadline. So you can expect one to two posts from me a week.

My intension is to write a continuous story, but the style most likely won’t be the same. For example, the opening part is supposed to be funny but it is my first time trying to write like that and I probably won’t continue it. I may change from first person to third person or go heavy on the scenery.

I would love to know what works and what doesn’t so don’t be shy, but also be reasonable I’m just a regular guy. I ain’t no pro.

One last thing, these are rough drafts nothing more. I will go back and reread them, but expect mistakes and such.

Basically it is an experiment and I thought, shoot, why not share it.