Diary Of Tall Grass Eighty Miles From Home

1930 Words Aug 18th, 2015 8 Pages
I awake in a field of tall grass eighty miles from home. I could feel some secret presence stalk me in the darkness.
I look at my 1967 Omega Seamaster. A deep crack stretches along the crystal. The gold second hand’s fallen off the crown wheel and jiggles loosely along the mother of pearl dial. It’s four past midnight.
I hazily recall that I’d been at the wedding reception for Jeff and Kate earlier tonight.
Cool mud squishes against my face and chest. I try to push myself up, my rubbery arms go limp and I splat back to the soggy ground.
A black silhouette of a helicopter slowly thumps overhead. The searchlight jerkily scans the thick tree line ahead of me.
Slowly I crouch. The ground trembles underfoot, I wobble as the grass slaps my face with each uneasy step.
“Just like a patrol,” I whisper to myself, “evade and maneuver.”
With my hands, I sweep the grass from my face. I stumble to the left, my ankle twists and I flop into the boggy mud again.
Rolling onto my back, I watch the stars shimmer overhead. Air fills my expanding lungs, I grab the backs of my knees and force myself up yet again. The helicopter circles the field ominously then veers to the freeway. I need to get out of this field before that thing gets back here. I have maybe fifteen minutes.
I stand determinedly and with long strides I cut my way through the grass. My feet stick in the mire with each plodding step. Whoosh, the ground evaporates. I fall endlessly through the void. A splash of cold water…

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