Corn

The black of the night lent itself to the explanation that all of existence had been condensed into the area illuminated by the motorcycle’s single headlight. From my vantage point behind the headlight (and therefore outside of existence), I was hypnotized by the world as it flashed through this beam of creation and destruction. The speed was enough that no single thing existed for long, and in each item’s brief life it left an impression in the back of my mind, filling me like a pitcher being dunked in the ocean.

Suddenly into the beam came a cornfield. I tried to turn the bike, but I was too slow (the ocean in my head delayed my reaction a bit.) The cornfield surrounded the bike and I, still traveling at speeds high enough to break time into moments. Without time having passed, I was out of the corn field and on my back, with a motorcycle on top of me. I lied and collected myself for a moment, scanning over my body for any specific screaming pain. Before long, I found some.

The bike’s engine was searing against my calf. In a slight panic I yanked at my leg and pushed at the bike, managing to get free. I could smell the burning flesh, but the actual injury didn’t seem that bad. I stood up and limped vaguely around to the front of the bike so I could use the headlight to examine the burn. It was pretty intense, looked like the skin had been torn off just prior to the seer. It hurt, but I could walk. I also noticed in the light a bit of blood on my shirt. I knelt down to examine where it might have come from, and found something unfortunate.

Before I continue, we should talk a bit about corn. Corn is a grain that’s grown as food all across the country. The part used for food is the grain, several dozen of which grow on a cob. Several cobs grow on a thing called a stalk. Corn stalks grow straight up out of the ground in fields. They are between 5 and 9 feet tall, and they have cobs and leaves. The leaves have a broad face and a thin edge, and often from the stalk with a springiness that allows them to gather more sun. Above a certain speed, like water which gains the consistency of concrete, those soft and gentile leaves take on the characteristics of machetes.

I had just careened through a field of machetes, and I did not come out unscathed. Across my stomach was a gash, nearly a foot long and deep…scary deep. Without knowing what else to do, I put my arm over my stomach and applied pressure, trying to keep as many of the guts inside the wound as possible. Using my other arm I righted the bike and started back down the street, with one useless leg and one arm occupied. I couldn’t shift up (my leg just wouldn’t do that motion), and so I weaved down the street drunkenly at 13 miles an hour.

Before long, I was sucked back into the thought that all existence was in the headlight. I found myself gasping for air, and before long I couldn’t fight off the big darkness that was invading from behind my eyes. I felt myself start to topple, but I didn’t feel the ground.