Somewhere Much Too Cold

Longest Roleplay Post

2005-11-07T18:58:00.000-08:00

This is the longest post I ever made... ever. It will likely remain as such for a long time to come. Seeing as it is longer than any paper that I ever did school, including in my AP classes, there is something to be said about it. If there are any subjects that confuse you... well, it can't really be helped. It is taken out of it's original context, which is a reply to several other posts that were already made. It's like cutting out random paragraphs from a story, I guess. Anyways, I won't distract you any longer. Here it is:

How utterably, terrifyingly, amazingly confusing this hatching was. Everything so chaotic, so noisy, so busy. Almost too much for the little Harutan to handle. He was beginning to feel very dizzy from all of the commotion combined with the unrelenting heat of the sands. Even though he wore sandals, unlike the stubborn Radek (who he was standing as far away from as he was allowed to), he could feel those unwanted heat-induced blisters already forming on his feet. Inwardly he winced as he shifted his position slightly to try to find a less painful way to stand. He was certainly going to make a bee-line for the Infirmary or the nearest stash of that cooling salve that his blisters already needed as soon as the hatching ended - whether or not he had a dragonet trailing along behind him. He sincerely hoped he would. Every time one of the eggs began showing signs of hatching, his heart leapt up somewhere near his through, and his stomach accomplished amazing acrobatic feats in the gaping space left vacant by the risen heart. Inexplicable emotions and feelings washed over him every time a dragon hatched, and wobbled (or valiantly attempted to stride) across the sands towards their bonded. He couldn't possibly know that it was wonder and hope that filled him each time his eyes swept across the form of one of the newest additions to the weyr. The onslaught of busy noises and emotions put the small boy in sort of floaty daze. A slightly terrified daze, but a floaty sort of daze none-the-less.
Despite the sheer sense of unidentified wonder that filled him every time a dragon passed along the line of boys, he couldn't help but fear the larger of the dragons that passed him. He was slightly grateful when many of them didn't even spare the little healer boy a second glance, although a strange pang yanked at his heartstrings every time they passed him up. He wished it was stop doing that. Emotions could be awfully taxing.
Most of the hatching was passing the fazed candidate in a swift blur of events. Receiving the exciting news that the eggs were hatching, just as he was putting down his new volume of healing techniques for the night; donning overlarge, unfamiliar robes and sandals; the darkness of the autumn night as the candidates were quickly ushered towards many of their destinies; the dry heat of the sands that enveloped them upon their rushed arrival; the hatching of the Spiritoso bronze accompanied by the frenzied applause, shouts, and whistles. The clapping of hands still confused Harutan, even after the Spiritoso bronze, his Leggiero green sister, the Secco blue, the Col Legno brown (who impressed someone he actually recognized), and the Sospirando brown had all chosen. Every time their eyes had turned a vibrant rainbow of swirling colors, and their apparent chosen exposed their dragons' name, the stands arrupted in a loud, harsh noise that sounded almost like large drops of rain falling on cold stone during a storm. The first time they began making that fear provoking noise, Harutan couldn't help but nearly jump out of his pale skin. The second time caught him almost as nearly by surprise. But the third time... the third time, Harutan made sure to discover the source of that frightening noise. Certainly there was a reason for it... He had glanced over at the stands, and noticed that nearly everyone was hitting their hands together at various speeds and intensities. Could that possibly be it? He watched as the ceased their clapping, and when the hands stopped moving, the sound stopped coming. Feeling rather proud of himself for discovering the source of the unsettling noise, he returned his eager attentions to the newest of the rocking eggs; the Appassionato. He faintly wondered if anyone else was puzzled about the clapping as he had previously been, but soon dismissed the idea as he watched the hatching egg with greater intensity. Even though it was at the very back of the clutch, only Mancando being further away, the hysterical tossing and pitching of the cracking egg made it hard for the movement-orientated paranoia that belonged to Harutan to allow the boy to miss it. Just when it seemed to reach it most passionate rocking, the egg fell over, and out spilling the most vibrant green that Harutan had every seen in his brief experience with dragons. His eyes widened slightly as he watched the dragon curiously. The vibrant green was simply sitting there. Staring. Staring at her sibling's egg. Not rushing towards the candidates or making a slow, careful patrol as many of the others had done. No, this one was patiently cheering on her younger sibling, who seemed to be having trouble hatching. Once again, pangs of an unfamiliar sense, almost akin to fear, pulled at his heart, trying to simultaneously yank it upwards and downwards. Just when he thought it would burst as the egg slowed down its rocking, it too fell over, spilling its previous occupant onto the sands. The Appassionato dragonet seemed relieved to finally have her muddy green sister on the sands with her, yet still worried over the smaller one's welfare. However, the pitiful little green managed to stand, and walk across the remains of the clutch towards the remains of the candidates. He thought he saw the Appassionato green part with her sister to examine the female candidates, but it was only a glimpse, for suddenly his attention was focused solely on the Mancando green. She was stumbling... her exhausted limbs were wobbling pitifully, and the poor hatchling was crying piteously. But why? With so many people out there, around him and in the stands, couldn't she find her bonded? Couldn't her bonded help her out of her predicament?
A sudden calm spread over him, and he felt as if he was curled up in his favorite corner, watching Daerin patching up some wound or another on one of their more frequent visitors; a young, rambunctious weyrbrat. He felt utterly at peace. So at peace, that he almost missed the swirling rainbow hues that began consuming the more pained tones of the Mancando green's eyes.
And then it hit him. His stomach quickly ceased its acrobatic stunts, and came crashing back down into reality. It felt empty; so, very, horribly, unbearably empty. Almost as if a very tall, very scary person suddenly snuck up behind him and put his hands on his shoulders. However, it was hunger instead of fear that made him feel as if he would rather like to double over and curl up into a little ball. However, the calm feeling from before still lingered at the edges of his mind, promising better times to come.
Jerrerin-mine... mewled a pitiful yet loving voice in his mind, following up her (certainly it sounded feminine...) previous pleading.
She was talking to him... and by she, he was certain it was the green Mancando! His lovely Mandorrath had chosen him! He was thrilled, but at the same time very hungry and very worried for his new life mate’s welfare.
"I am coming, Mandorrath..." Harutan said quietly, yet soothingly, as he quickly covered the few feet that still lay between him and his dear Mandorrath. The small boy couldn't help but caress his dragonet's head for a moment before realizing what he had to do next. He had to help his Mandorrath to the feeding tables. However, even if his green was the smallest of the clutch, she was still huge compared to the small boy. He wouldn't be able to lend her any strength physically, for he had none himself... but maybe he would be able to give her the mental support to get her to the tables.
"The feeding tables are not that far off, Mandorrath-mine... you only need to walk a little further...” Harutan coaxed, letting his green lean against him as much as she needed to, as he helped her make her way towards the tables. The short journey was hard for the both of them, however. Mandorrath's wobbly, weak limbs nearly gave out on her completely many a time before they got to the tables, and they had to stop fairly often for either one or the other to catch their breath. Even is Mandorrath was tiny for a dragon, she still weighed a whole lot more than a sack of firestone did, as Harutan soon found out.
However, once they came within sight of the tables, Mandorrath perked up quite a bit.
Look, Jerrerin-mine! It is Syndrath and hers! Mandorrath exclaimed, putting extra emphasis on Syndrath's name.
"Who...?" Harutan wondered briefly, but when he looked in the direction that his dragonet was looking, he immediately noticed the Appassionato green. She was a hard one to miss.
Let's go over there, Jerrerin-mine! Mandorrath said with as much excitement as an utterly exhausted and terribly hungry dragon could muster. Despite being very puzzled by his dragon's attachment, he was willing to brave being around new people if it meant his lovely Mandorrath was happy.
With their destination now firmly set, the pair continued on their still rather slow way towards the food tables, and Syndrath. Upon reaching the tables, Harutan could not help but heave a sigh of relief. He and his Mandorrath had made it. It had probably taken a good deal of time, because when he looked back over his shoulder at the clutch, it had seemed that 9 more dragons had either hatched or impressed by the time they had made it to the tables. Why, even the gold was out and on the sands before the candidates now.
Syndrath! Jerrerin-mine and I have made it! Mandorrath announced to her beloved sister happily, glad to be by the slightly older green's side again at last. Meanwhile, Harutan was feeling very shy, and was avoiding looking at the nearby Syndrath and her unknown rider as he looked for a suitable bowl of meat to feed his Mandorrath. His stomach churned slightly at the chopped up raw meat, but no more so than when he was watching Daerin set a particularly nasty broken arm. Finding one that seemed to contain particularly well-marbled meat, he picked it up gingerly, and then set it down carefully in front of his green.
Without a word said by either dragonling or weyrling, although a pulse of gratefulness was sent from the draconic half of the bond to the human side, the green dug in voraciously. Harutan watched his dragon, still utterly fascinated by the creature that decided to spend her entire life with him. For the moment, nothing else except his Mandorrath existed to the boy, not even the nearby bigger dragonets and weyrlings that still sent instinctive shivers up his spine.

Reflection

2005-11-07T18:55:00.000-08:00

Ha! I finished this assignment before we even started it in class! w007! Life is good. I must say that this assignment had its shares of difficulties and easy spots, just as any other assignment would.
What could probably be considered the hardest part was modifying the template to my liking. I'm not very experienced with html, and what little experience I've had with it took place a couple of years ago. However, the template is not made in html, and maybe not even css. I'm not quite sure what it is. All I know is that I found it very helpfull that I had taken Computer Programming last year. The template seems to work very similarly to the way a C++ program runs. In any case, after a couple hours' worth of messing around and expiramenting, I managed to turn the dark minima into what it is now. The picture on the header I found on google and chopped up until I got what I wanted. It turned out pretty well, I think.
The easiest part was copying and pasting the assignments onto the blog. Spellchecking and such was pretty easy, too. Typing up the journals was also very easy. And filling out the profile. That was very, very easy.
However, I found it quite difficult to refrain from spouting profanities in the random question box. I don't even want to know how drugged up the person who made those questions was. I mean, seriously. 'If dirt and water make mud, what is clay?' What kind of question is that? As a joke, I was going to quote a geology page that I googled that had a nice, long detailed explaination, but the site told me that I had to have 150 words or less. That sucks. I shuffled through the questions for a while, and then just gave up on it. If they're going to give me a random question, they might as well give me a good funny one that makes sense. Random does not necessarily mean 'spoutings and inquirees of a drugee'. There's enough of that in school without having to get it from some blog site.
Well, I reflected, ranted, raved... and remembered that I have some AP language & composition and AP psychology homework to do. That's all... for now.

Journal XIX - September 29th, 2005

2005-11-07T18:35:00.000-08:00

I am not a big, purple, hairy, green-blue-whiter-striped, winged, tailed, toothy, evil, webbed-toed, 6-foot-long-fingered, scaled, bad-tempered, msichevious, snouted, flowing yellow-eyed, porpose-tailed, fish eating, berry eating, elephant eating, fire breathing, water breathing, clawed, five-stomached, hairy-chested, head chopping, bone gnashing, hand chewing, motherless, fatherless, mindless, uncaring, ingenius, ingamous, bright-plumaged, foul-breathed, tarred and feathred, plotting, planning, procrastinating, jeering, leering, impolite, immaculate, gerbil eating, scum sucking, loud sneezing, rhaspy breathing, phlegm coughing, choking, wheezing, whooping, hacking, unimaginative, unintelligent, football catching, football kicking, chocolate milk drinking, deep-fat-fried, extra crispy, original, herb spiced, char-broiled, baked, shaken, stiffed, stir crazy, stir fried, refried untried, unproven, argumentative, stubborn, cruel, sadistic, masochistic, torturing, insane, inhumane, murdering, suicidal, sniveling, drooling, unschooled, risk taking, egg-laying, crowing, mowing, mooing, quacking, growling, snarling, screaming, yelling, shouting, timid, weak, unsocial, unbehooving, unbenevolent, malevolent, cheating, gambling, alcohol-breathed, onion-breathed, bean-breathed, hoarse-voiced, horse-voiced, gravely voiced, unknown, unheard of, secretive, back-stabbing, candy-stealing, cat burgling, gang-leading, cow hearding, cowboy eating, hat wearing, snotty nosed, dirt tracking, mud eating, hedge trimming, crossdressing, fish selling giraffe, and a bag of chips. Or at least, I wasn't the last time that I checked.

Journal XXXI - October 18, 2005

2005-11-07T18:13:00.000-08:00

I couldn't help but wonder where I went wrong. Why the hell did that solution explode? Yes, I know I used unstable chemicals that when added together make an even more unstable chemical. Yes, I know I had to use extremely precise measurements. I used the most advanced technology available in my field of expertise. And yet, I still find myself here with half of my face and a hand mysteriously missing. What the hell?
I've done more complicated experiments than this successfully before. What made this one any different? Seriously. 10 years of school, a bachelor's degree, a master's degree, and a PhD... All down the drain, all for naught. I repeat, what the hell?
The pain of my missing hand and upper left face is starting to sink in now. It's pretty painful. I should probably dial 9-1-1. I wonder if I can do that with one hand and half of a mouth. I wonder if hospitals can receive text messages. Most likely not. They probably can't read chat speak anyways.
A flash of white swirls past on the edge of my vision, and lands in front of me. It's the beginnings of my former colleague's notes on the experiment that I was carrying out. Poor ol' Steve had had a heart attack last Tuesday, and I had decided to take over for him. I thought that I could handle it. Apparently not.
My remaining eye scans the page quickly, trying to pick out my mistake from among the ingredients and procedures.
Hey-- wait a minute! Was that a tablespoon or a teaspoon?

Journal XXXIII - October 25th, 2005

2005-11-07T18:02:00.000-08:00

I told you so. I really hate to say it, but... I told you so. I told you that parachuting is dangerous. And now here I am with an arm full of flowers that you know fully well that I'm allergic to, and here you are stone cold and six feet under in a suit of the same wool that I know gives you hives. Your parents wouldn't have it any other way. I thought it'd be funny if you were buried wrapped in a parachute, but you're parents just don't have my kind of humor, I guess. Your parents and I never really did see eye to eye.
Then again, neither did we. And now there are several feet of dirt and clay, a lacquered wooden casket, some padding, and one of those miniature toy army parachuters between your eyes and mine. Yeah, I did manage to throw that in before it was too late. I suppose I had the last laugh after all. I usually do.
You should've listened to me, y'know. Jumping out of an airplane thousands of feet above the ground... what was going through your mind? I wonder. I suppose it must have been thrilling at first, exciting and amazing. Maybe it even felt like you were flying instead of hurtling towards your death. I wonder. And how did it feel when you tugged on the string and no parachute came out? I wonder. Terrifying and indescribably horrible, I suppose. But now I have allergies and you have hives and are six feet under. I guess I'll never know.

Tanka and Haiku

2005-11-07T17:51:00.000-08:00

A lady bug's corpse
Lying still in the sunlight
Once bright in past times
Now dull and dead and quiet
The light burries it beneath

Leaves fly in the breeze
Colors blending with colors
Orange and yellow
Red and burgundy and gold
Take a flying leap of faith

A sky of bright blue
Stretches endlessly above
Ceilings dissappear

Poetry Best Write- Part III, Summer Nights

2005-11-07T17:50:00.000-08:00

Summer Nights

The air is sweet,
And spicy,
That fragrant smell
That often accompanies
The thick dark of
Summer nights.

An endless darkness
Stretches above me,
The darkest black imaginable
Fills up a space that is in
Reality,
Indescribably and yet
Utterly empty.

Countless pin pricks
Ooze the blood
Of the unknown,
Thick and white
And bright and beautiful.

Elation empties my body
Of the weight that
Constantly
Keeps my material presence
Secured tightly
To the surface of the earth.

Tender shoots
Of freshly mown grass,
Tickle the soles of my feet.
Summer nights are
Made for dancing
And laughing.

I oblige,
And dance and laugh,
And even as my eyes
Focus completely
On that endless dark above,
I know that I am
Not alone.

Poetry Best Write- Part II, Pencil to Paper

2005-11-07T17:49:00.000-08:00

Pencil to Paper

Endless possibilities
Present their selves to
Me
In the form of a
Blank
White
Page.

I manipulate all of those
Possible futures
Those alternate realities.
By touching
Pencil to paper,
I manipulate the mind,
Simultaneously
Stimulate and simulate
Thought and emotion.

Lives unravel,
Dramas take place,
Love is lost or gained,
Reality itself is twisted and molded,
The thin line
Of genius
And insanity,
Is balanced between
The tip
Of my pencil,
And that endless
Expanse
Of white.

Poetry Best Write- Part I, They Say.

2005-11-07T17:47:00.000-08:00

They Say

They say,
That thinking
Logically
Is too
Depressing.

They say,
That you need
Religion
To remain
Hopeful.

They say,
That you need to
Love
To keep your
Sanity.

They say,
That if we
Pretend
That everything
That we’re told is
True
We will be
Happy.

Just like
Them.

Fiction Best Write

2005-11-07T16:43:00.000-08:00

Remote Control

Damien shut the door to his apartment with a soft thump, shutting out the sounds of the evening rush hour traffic. The sounds of crying, screaming, and dramatic music replaced the honking horns and shouted profanities. He leaned against the smooth brown door for a moment, eyes closed, and sighed. Not bothering with the laces, he pried his shoes from his feet, and left them where they lay. More serious matters were at hand.

Damien looked over at the TV that hung on the far wall of the room. The TV itself was not the problem. In fact, it was rather Damien’s pride and joy. It was his sleek, silver baby, a 60” plasma flat screen antique. It was the first thing he bought after receiving a particularly hefty (and well-earned) bounty on some guy called Big Moe. His life outside of work revolved around his beautiful TV. No, it was definitely not the TV that bothered him. What bothered him was what was currently being displayed on said TV’s screen.

“Maes, what the hell are you watching?” Damien asked, jumping over the back of the old worn grey sofa and landing cross-legged next to his room mate.

“Shush!” Maes hissed urgently, put a finger to his lips, and glared at his friend, “Kelly is just about to tell Greg her secret!”

Damien rolled his eyes, as he had done hundreds of times before.

“Oooh… how exciting,” Damien crossed his arms, and looked at the ceiling as if it would divulge unto him why his best friend was watching the sappiest, corniest soap opera in the entirety of the solar system. ”What is it this time? Is she having Joe’s baby? Mark’s baby? Or did she finally give up on men altogether and switch teams?”

“Don’t be an idiot. She’s telling him that she eloped with his brother, moron,” Maes said, throwing a couple pieces of popcorn at him, “She had Mark’s baby last week.”

“Sooo-rry, little miss drama queen. Please excuse my extensive lack of knowledge in all things soap opera.”

He had hoped that would’ve pissed his friend off. Then he could’ve gotten a hold of the remote in the ensuing scuffle, as he normally did. Unfortunately, it seemed that his friend had grown some sort of… thick skin or something since the last time Damien had used that tactic. That was not good. His Gilligan’s Island Monday-night re-runs were on the line here.

Damien glanced at his watch. 6:27 pm. His show was on in 3 minutes.

“Maes, how much longer is your show going to be on?” Damien asked, exasperated.

“Oh, I dunno... About 6 more hours? They’re having a ‘Desperate Housebots’ marathon tonight,” Maes explained, and tossed another handful of popcorn into his mouth.

Something inside of Damien died right then.

“Six… more… hours?” Damien repeated in disbelief, hoping that maybe by saying it, the reality behind it would disappear.

“Yep,” Maes managed to confirm through a mouthful of popcorn, “Deal wif it.”

“But… but… Gilligan’s Island… three minutes… big screen… surround-sound… ugh…” Damien muttered hopelessly.

Something needed to be done. There was no way that Damien would allow ‘Desperate Housebots’ to be watched in his apartment, much less on his TV, for Six, Fudging, Hours. Something needed to be done or more than just something inside Damien would die that night.

Damien glanced down at his watch again. 6:29 pm. He had one minute left. This called for a desperate, last-ditch ploy.

“Ahem. So. Sarah called me today. She said she was too embarrassed to ask you herself, but… she was wondering if you would go out with her tonight at 6:30.” Damien stifled a grin. That should do it.

“W-what?!” Maes all but exploded, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I’m going to be late!”

Just as Damien had predicted, Maes leapt off of the couch, and had put on his shoes and coat in seconds flat.

“Quick! Where?” Maes asked with one hand grasping the door knob.

“The old Mars Cinema 8 downtown.”

“Unh. See ya!” Maes shouted behind him, before slamming the door behind him.

“Heh. Idiot,” Damien said smugly, and reached for the remote.

Nonfiction Best Write

2005-11-07T16:40:00.000-08:00

Blind Bikers

It was the fall of 1997. The afternoon sun shone down on my best friend, me, and our bikes. It felt nice, keeping us warm on that slightly windy autumn day. We were sitting on our bikes at the end of the driveway of my old Kentucky home. She had just gotten back from church, and I was glad to finally have my best friend around to play with. We had already biked around my block twice and up and down both of our driveways countless times, and now we were bored. We wanted to do something new.
“Hey, Danielle, why don’t we make up a new game?” My friend, Rozina Walford, randomly suggested, her voice suddenly excited.
I thought about it for a moment, and my face broke into an estatic grin akin to my friend’s.
“Yeah! That’d be so cool… We could teach everybody at school, and they would teach other kids, and then our game would be famous! How about we make a game up to play on our bikes?” I replied, looking over at my friend, and rolled back and forth a couple of inches on my bike to emphasize my words.
“We could bike around with our eyes closed, to make it more exciting,” Rozina said, grinning at me.
“But wouldn’t we run into something and get hurt?” I asked, the perpetual worrywart and scaredy-cat that I was. I frowned and leaned over the handle bars, resting my chin on the cool purple metal.
“How about this. I can ride around with my eyes closed, and you can watch me, and warn me if I’m about to run into anything,” Rozina replied, somewhat exasperated, after thinking for a moment. My frown became a grin once again and I nodded. That sounded safe enough to me. A second later, my friend’s eyes were closed, and she was biking around the street. Every now and again I would shout “Mailbox!” or “Car!” and she would stop and start moving in another direction until I didn’t shout anything. After a while, biking around with your eyes closed began to look like a lot of fun.
Being the older of the two of us by a year and a half, Rozina was rather bossy. Most of the time she was the one who decided who would get the first turn, or who got to play with which toy, or who got to pretend to be who. Apparently she thought that biking with one’s eyes closed was fun too, because she kept saying that I could have my turn in five more minutes. Since neither of us had a watch, it would be quite a while before I got my turn.
My friend grew more confident in her ability to bike “blind”, and I grew more confident in my ability to guide her. So we decided to leave the stretch of Walhampton Drive that lay just in between my house and hers, and make a venture all the way around the block. Surprisingly, we made it past everything; past every empty parked car, past the standard black mailboxes, past the tall trees, past every foot of concrete curb, and even past the big drainage ditch that ran through the middle of Langdon Drive. We felt rather proud of ourselves as we stopped in between our houses again.
I was just about to ask for my turn again when our mutual friend, Allen, came out with his bike. I had never seen his bike before, but I could see why he was proud of the sparkly blue banana-seated two-wheeler. He had been watching us for the past few minutes, and wanted to know what we were up to. We proudly explained our newly invented game, which Rozina and I had decided to call ‘Blind Bikers’. He said he wanted to join us, but we didn’t know how to make the game work with more than one ‘blind biker’. All three of us sat on our bikes for a while, thinking about how we could make the game work for more than two people. Recently I had bought the book Megamorphs #2 at my school’s book fair, and had learned that dolphins could tell where things were through echolocation. This gave me an idea.
“How about the person guiding the two blind bikers rides in the middle of the road, and squeaks really loudly? Then the two people with their eyes closed can follow the sound. If they’re about to run into anything, the guider can warn them, and then keep squeaking,” I suggested. By saying that two people were blind bikers, I had been hoping to increase my chances of being able to try to ride with my eyes closed. Unfortunately, Allen was also older than me, and I was to be the guide again.
We went around the block twice, testing my idea. It worked wonderfully, and neither Rozina nor Allen ran into anything or fell down the ditch. When we stopped in front of my house again to rest, I asked once again if I could give being “blind” a try. Perhaps Rozina was feeling generous, because she volunteered to take over the job of being the guide.
I closed my eyes, and began pedaling. I grinned, enjoying the exciting feeling that accompanied moving quickly and having no idea where I was going. We started slow at first, because both Allen and I were new to being blind bikers, and Rozina was new at guiding. By the time we turned the second corner, however, we were starting to feel that we were very good at what we were doing. I began pushing down harder on the pedals of my bike, trying to keep up with the squeaking noise that I could hear further ahead. Rozina yelled “Turn!” at the next corner, and I knew that we were now on the road with the big, deep ditch. The idea of accidentally falling into that ditch made me very nervous. That warranted the shame of peeking. However, when we turned the next corner, back onto Walhampton Drive, the road on which my house was situated, I grew much more confident. I had lived on and explored that quiet suburban road for as long as I could remember. I felt like I could navigate it with my eyes closed with or without a guide. I grinned widely, and began pedaling faster and faster, enjoying the feel of the wind combing back my short hair.
Rozina had stopped squeaking momentarily, but I wasn’t worried. I was moving fast, I was moving free of the restriction of the reality brought on by sight; I was almost home… and then, wham! The front wheel of my bike connected loud and hard with something very big and very solid. I screamed in surprise. Both I and the bike flew backwards in the air, and I landed on my back, my bike half on top of me. I opened my eyes to stare at the rear bumper of a rusty green parked car. I glared at the thing, blaming it for my sudden, rather painful stop. My leg hurt, probably because the bike had landed on top of it and one of the pedals had scraped it up. It was a dull throbbing pain, and since I had never before broken a bone, I was worried that I had now.
Rozina and Allen, who had heard my surprised shout, had immediately given up the game to come over to see if I was alright. Rozina apologized repeatedly, frantically explaining that she had been warning Allen about a mailbox and hadn’t seen me heading towards the parked car. Allen started heading to my house to tell my mom what had happened. I was nursing my wounded leg, and glaring vindictively at the parked car. I decided then and there that there was a very good reason why nobody had ever seen a blind person bike. Parked cars took a sadistic pleasure in getting in their way and tripping them.