Traxxx
Mace Styx
Enjoy this short story by Mace Styxx.
Perhaps some heavy sheet of twisted metal, the engine or outer frame of his vehicle. He scoured his memory, trying to recall what he had been doing immediately before he had awoken, the account came back blank. Like the times he had drunken himself into a blackout, he had clearly lost time, where the memory should be there was nothing, just a blank void, a gap in the recording.
Maybe, he considered, he had decided, against his better judgment, to drive home after a heavy drinking bout. That would account for the lost time and he admitted begrudgingly, for the accident he supposed himself to have caused. Okay, he thought, the past could wait. The first thing was to work out what was going on right now and to do something about it. The thing was not to kick and flail but to assess the situation, to work out what he could and could not move and get some idea of what his situation actually was.
“Okay” he spoke to himself aloud. “Calm down and try to move your feet.”
Firing instructions at himself in this fashion did seem to settle him slightly and he was able to steady himself enough to actually carry it out. To his surprise and relief, his feet moved easily from side to side. There was no question that he was able to move them but also that they were unable to help because everything from the lower shin up was fastened in place. That meant he wasn’t paralyzed, but rather, pinned.
“Okay, now try to raise your head,” he again announced out loud and again was able, in response to his own command, to complete the action, though almost instantly he wished he hadn’t. For within seconds of his head elevating itself from the ground, he was able to take in everything, his situation, his surroundings and the true horror of his predicament. He was not pinned, but tied.
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