HONK-HONK! sounded a blow horn. The deafening resonance reverberated inside the depths of my throbbing cranium – aching for a reason I did not know myself. For a moment, paralysis had overwhelmed me. I struggled to advance forward, however my restrained leg contradicted this motion; I could not move. Eventually, I overcame my momentarily disability of paralysis by means of pushing myself upward with my arms. However, just as soon as I had hoisted myself high enough until my limbs almost locked, they had gave way as I crashed back to the pavement below.
HONK-HONK! There it was again – the same deafening tone that had sounded just seconds ago. It was closer now, though. It was not until now that I had come to the conclusion that this perplexing resonation must be a warning. But, the question was: What is it a warning of?
“George,” I called out. “George, help buddy me.” The words had been produced in a jumbled, raspy pitch. My brain had literally been scrambled. Seemingly almost as if someone had chucked my mind into a blender, poured it out, and then tossed it into the sink only to be tousled by the food processor.
What is it, Ken? the familiar, penetrating British accent chimed, all of which belonged to my dearest, greatest, and truest friend. What IS it, Ken? The voice of George. His reiteration sounded aggravated. It was he who was my best friend. It was rather odd, seeing as how my best friend was in the form of simple inanimate object. Nothing other than a trashcan. But, as they say, you don’t judge a cover by its book, eh? Or – wait – was it, The spaghetti sauce doesn’t always have to be red? Bah! I forgot. Anyway.
“Help me. I’m stuck.” I clawed desperately with my fingers into the pavement, hoping to inch away from my doom, but to no avail.
HONK-HOOOOOOONK! The boisterous pitch was here. This was it. The end of my existence. I shall be no more. My senses had finally came back. I could see clearly now. I could speak clearly now, as if that could benefit me in this situation. My eardrums were blown, but the vociferous horn still prevailed. I could smell burning rubber. Burning rubber? Zuh?!
I quickly glanced to my left. Before my eyes was the grim reaper. Only, in the former of an eighteen-wheeler. “Scoot your boot, George!” was all I managed to blurt out. “I’m dead!”
The blast of the horn and the squeal of the brakes trying desperately to put this immense object to rest had killed my hearing now. Not like that made a difference. I will be dead in about two seconds. I guess I should say my last words.
“I heart you, George!”
One last time, the HONK-HOOOOOOONK! sounded. And then . . .
