Wings

I

A smacking noise could be heard as he hit the heavy suspended bag. And then again in bursts of two, repeatedly.

He stood all alone in the abandoned Tire King-turned-dojo, relentlessly punching a faded red hanging bag. The grungy garage doors were open on all sides, creating an open-air studio. He took a brief break for water, gazing out the east doors to spot the moon hanging low over the distant trees, Venus shining bright just below it. It was a clear night, and the freezing, north-eastern wind swept through the building, yet it didn't seem to bother the sweaty man.

As he walked toward the eastern wall, eyes still locked onto the silver orb in the sky, he felt a strange pain in his left thigh. He glanced down at his leg momentarily, confused since he hadn't done any hard leg training that night, but brushed off his concerns easily.

I must just be an old man, huh?

The 22-year-old chuckled ironically and picked up his water bottle, the condensation on the outside denoting it's coolness. He rolled the liquid around on his tongue before swallowing it and taking a deep breath.

He usually ended his night with about ten minutes of meditation, reflecting on his day and his exercises. This night was just like any other, and he walked back to the middle of the floor and faced westwards, to where the sun had set a few hours prior. It's last remnants of light still lingered in the sky, and a warm smile played his features as he gracefully eased onto the floor. He folded his legs Indian-style and rested his hands on his knees, palms up. His eyes fluttered closed, and before long, quiet "om"s floated from his mouth in five-second intervals.

When his eyes opened again, he first let his gaze travel to his feet, then the mat below it, and finally lifted his head, his eyes taking in the studio and eventually the sky. A white moth flitted around an aged, circular light fixture on the wall of the dojo. Two men walked together across the street, hands intertwined. Traces of the sun still clung to the sky.

What a beautiful world.

He kicked his feet straight out in front of him, stretching to touch his nose to his knees. He stayed like this for a minute, relaxing his muscles and breathing deeply. After a few moments of varied stretches, he got to his knees and pushed back to his heels, standing up again. The twinge in his thigh returned, this time accompanied with a strike of pain just below his neck. He noted it, deciding to take a warm bath when he got back home, and made his way back to where he stashed his belongings.

He tossed his water bottle in his bag and withdrew an olive-green towel, wiping the sweat from his shoulders and face with it. Discarding it back in his rucksack, he pulled his set of the dojo keys from within. Closing the garage doors was an easy feat, and before long, he had locked the glass storefront and padded barefoot back to his truck.

The black '98 Jeep Wrangler roared to life when he turned the key in the ignition, and he set off for home. He lived farther away from the dojo than he liked to admit, but the drive always gave him something to focus on. Today's thought train lead to tomorrow's match, a local one in Durham. He'd been to a match there before, so the concept of "foreign territory" didn't apply. He breezed through the countryside thinking of moves and his strategy for the next day's sparring.

The only light in his path for miles turned yellow up ahead, and he moved his foot off the gas onto the break, applying pressure. The problem was, he couldn't feel the resistance of the brake. The engine revved, a sure sign that he wasn't slowing. His eyes went wide, suddenly anxious.

A flash off to the left marked a black truck speeding towards the intersection, doomed to cross at just the same moment. He veered the wheel to the right, trying to somehow escape his fate, but the light was red, the Jeep didn't stop, and he heard screaming as metal tore through metal. He later realized that the screaming was his own.

A shaky hand reached up to touch his burning face. He felt sticky, hot liquid and knew that it could only be one thing: blood. He'd broken plenty of bones before, namely ribs from misjudged hits by sparring partners or tournament opponents. His entire door had been crushed onto him, glass impaled his skin, marring his face from impact. His ears were ringing, and just below the clanging of far-off bells and high-pitched whirring was the steady, though rampant, beating of his heart.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

He opened his eyes, realizing that he must've blacked out. His vision, poor due to the unlit country road, was tinged with red, and the airbag surrounding his face, almost suffocating him, vaguely registered in his brain. He groaned, straining his neck to look at something that wasn't white and blood-stained. With exhausted, shaking muscles, he gathered the airbag into one hand, deflating it, and pushed it away from his face onto the dashboard.

He offhandedly gazed down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them. They were sticky with blood. His own blood. The shock from the accident had set in, and he could barely feel: no emotion, no pain, just... nothing. Just purely happy-go-lucky, in the most self-destructive way.

He punched the seatbelt release button. It popped from its holder with a click, and hung limply over his body, not retracting due to the matted blood coating it. He pushed the slick seatbelt to the side and wormed his way onto the passenger seat, away from the crumpled door. His upper body moved easily, but his legs were caught in the footwell, crushed under the collapsed door and twisted under the pedals.

God, he thought, I've never been in a wreck before. Do I call 911?

He thought about it for a moment, his head clear from shock, and nodded absentmindedly.

Yeah, that would probably be best.

He extended an arm into the backseat to where his backpack sat, just behind the passenger on the floor. He fumbled with the zipper, opening it just enough to fit a hand in. He rummaged through the contents blindly before pulling out his iPhone. Despite his slick hands, he managed to press the home button. The screen lit up, and he swiped at the "emergency dial" button. The screen was soon coated in blood. Tongue between his teeth in concentration, he stretched his arm out to the passenger seat, which was not covered in blood, and rubbed both the phone display and his hand against it. He attempted to open the dialer again, and it worked.

A dial pad popped up, demanding a number. His eyes skirted the car, trying to find some kind of helpful number, but he couldn't come up with any original ideas. He popped "9-1-1" into the box and hit send, and much to his euphoria, the call went through.

Please work, oh god, please work, he pleaded silently, bringing the phone to his ear in a firm grip, unwilling to drop his thread of hope.

"9-1-1, please state your emergency." The operator was a woman. Good, easily manipulated. She would make sure he got help soon, right?

"I-I," he tried to talk, but something rose in his throat, blocking his words. He coughed and tried again, "I'm in a car crash. Not sure how long ago it happened. I don't know what happened to the other guy, I-I," this time, he wasn't choking on anything but hot saline. Tears began to fall, stinging against his wounds. "I think, oh god, I think I might've killed the other driver. The intersection between four and Madbury. Oh god, please hurry, send an ambulance or two or three... I can't move my legs..."

"Sir? Sir? Are you alright?" Her voice seemed earnest, demanding an answer.

He shook his head before realizing that she couldn't see him. "N-no. Just-just send cops and ambulances and I'll do anything, I swear..."

"Sir? You're going to make it out of this, I promise. They're on their way, they'll be right there. You're going to be alright, you're all going to be alright." Her voice didn't waver, and the corner of his lip quirked out. She was sure. He would be alright.

But the shock was beginning to wear off. The vehicles weren't arriving quickly enough, and before long, a loud, drawn out cry of pain rang through the forest, and he blacked out.