Wandering Souls

I slowed down, unable to tear my gaze away from the red tandem—the girl and her motorcycle. It seems like I’ve dreamed my whole life of buying something like that two-wheeled monster, and here—what an amazing specimen.

It’s a pity, of course: I earn exactly enough to maintain my only means of transportation; I won’t be able to afford a second one. And I’ve got nowhere to keep it.

Unexpectedly, the girl suddenly raised her hand and screamed at me—yet in the very next second there was a metallic screech and a crash. I turned around and saw that a trolleybus had rammed a pole with a huge advertising banner. And this concrete hulk—inevitably and strangely, as if in slow motion—was falling onto me.

People from the “zebra crossing” scattered; I did too. But it wasn’t meant to be. The pin from a sharp turn got stuck in a crack of asphalt softened by the heat. I jerked my leg frantically, trying to break free from captivity, and in horror I watched as the banner fell on me. Impact, thunderous noise, pain…

Before the white light went dark, the sun for a moment lit up the red “Kawasaki” and the girl running toward me, tearing off her bright helmet and shaking long black hair. Original! Some people, at the moment of death, see their whole past life—but for me it was the girl and the shining motorcycle.