–Short story I’m writing online. Broken in little parts. –

B-A-N-G. That wasn’t a gun, no. Worse then a bullet or I imagine so. The column on 323 Madison walks off without a dent, the marble green shows hints of red. My hand reaches back interfering with the vibrations the skull emitted. Somewhere on the ground Loren continues her rambling while my eyes feel like the Hoover dam.
My blurred vision stares at my hand, some parts of the brain are working overtime, the hamster that spins in his wheel spins faster calling on the heart to speed up his production. In the distance a mumbled “Hey! Are you there.” Forced me to grab the lost metallic artifact from the sidewalk.
“Yeah, Just hit my head.” I explained. Rather then giving any sign of compassion Loren continued her banter. This time about her job, the one that she hates, regrets ever accepting and has been quitting for the past five years. There are only six banters and on her banter scale the job is only a level five out of ten. My hand retrieved more red warm liquid from my cracked skull as her voice spiked to volumes that only dogs hear.
“Loren I have to call you back, I …” I spat out, a little cracked, as she interrupted with her normal plea.
“Fine.” She screeched, then the call droped as my wrist followed that motion of snapping shut the cancerist object that my life depends on. I contemplate of calling someone about the bump growing above possibly damaged brain cells or just enter the building and find a bathroom. After all, the show must go on.