Free Oedipussy by Solomon Deep Page B

faster.
    "Snake river," I said, "We were almost 'Ouroboros.'"
    Lights. Brilliant lights, before,
    the truck slammed into us,
                                              and everything seemed willing to be studied in a moment.
    I saw the grey form of the driver, as if he wasn't there but was a shadow. The sound of the impact, spa-crackle of glass, slowly, and the front fender of the Bronco travelled into the corner frame of the truck, John's head moved forward with momentum but stopped only by the arriving bumper smashing through the frame and the glass and his head travelling backward again with the glint of chrome. Steve continued forward, and forward, and forward, horizontally swimming like a pencil through the air, and straight through the broken windshield, and he was gone. I didn't move, stuck behind some the amplifiers jamming into John's seat. I was pinched like a vise somewhere.
    The Bronco heaved above us like a hinge as we began screeching sideways in a reciprocal opposing force. It was natural. The physics of it all seemed to make sense in the calm, slow motion study. My appreciation was beautifully magnified in this trance of time's elongated terror.
    Kurt, seat belted, jerked to the left and now down, rag-dolled into the seat and up, and down again as if he were in one place and the van moved around him. My forty pound fender amplifier finally bounded forward with kinetic energy and slammed into the dashboard.
    There was a hiccup of steel, and I noticed the amplifier remained suspended in the air rather than falling to the floor. Kurt's arms involuntarily hung in the air as if he were on a roller coaster. The van had begun to spin, and I realized through the windshield that the horizon was all messed up. The headlights, still functioning, reflected on pavement, and then steel guardrail, and then dark spring-night sky, and then nothing, and then trees, and then the underside of a bridge. My rising organs choked me, and my muscles tensed in reaction to my dire situation.
    Wind. It picked up. It whooshed.
    Then an impact-clap as we hit the brick wall of water on the bottom of the van, and I watched the amplifier come down hard on the floor just as I felt gravity pull and pull and pull and pull and pull down down down down down, folding me down like a piece of flat paper and my face flatte-

Chapter 10

     
    Wet.
    Cold wet like piss and stink of mudflat.
    A groggle of a winch, blink.
    A ringing in my ears, stuck and clammy mouth of mud.
    Choke.
    Ouroboros.
     
    Lights. I was standing and there were lights, flashy blue and white. Sparkle-white and red. Red white and blue. A dream. American dream. Filled to the topful o'cherry pie fireworks.
    I was standing against a...what?
    This is a fire truck, and there is a light in my eyes. This is a light shining in my eyes to check my eyes.
    "How are you doing, pal?"
    "Ouroboros."
    "Oh yeah? Not really big on my Greeks or anything, but... What is your name?"
    "Dawn Ego."
    "John, what, my man?"
    "Todd." My legs were killing me, My back was killing me. Pins and needles. I didn't know why he insisted I stand against this stiff truck. Why after talking with me for a few minutes, he was shining the lights back and forth and back and forth and back and forth, and as soon as one of my eyes were used to the dark, he moved it back over to the other eye and I couldn't see a thing. My eyes were opening, closing in concert.
    In cement.
    "Oh, Todd, okay."
    "Todd."
    "Stay with me, Todd."
    "I'm right here."
    "You're doing great, now. What year is it?"
    "1994."
    "Who is president?"
    "Nixon."
    "Kid, Nixon was barely around when I was born."
    "Nixon was the Ouroboros. I meant Clinton."
    "You got it, bud." He stopped it with the flashlight. The crystalline spots hung. "Breathe."
    "Yeah." What?
    "Good, breathing is getting back to normal. Vitals."
    "Yeah." My eyes adjusted and I still couldn't see his face, the lights in my periphery contributing to a blinding