Post by murph on Jul 18, 2008 7:22:51 GMT -5
Riding a bike in Los Angeles wasn't as safe as Adam had realized, as he was literally forced into the curb by a car that would rather have run him over than slowed down and go around him. As the front wheel of his 10 speed bike smashed into the curb, he could feel himself shoot over the worn-out handlebars, and into the median of the road. There wasn't much he could do as his head was the first to hit the ground, and then darkness set in. Leaking out through his last sight was the late afternoon sun. There wasn’t a specific place that he had to be, only he was hopping he could get a jumpstart on his most recent project, which was on the Oceanic 815 survivors. There wasn’t much he could do right now, except set up meetings with people.
He was looking at this project as if it weren’t going to be hard, but it was more difficult than he could ever imagine. There was so much to do, and he was looking through the rest of his life like it didn’t exist. His job at KTLA was more stressful than he gave it credit for, and he was completely leaving that out of his timeline for the project. A few other things he should’ve took into consideration were the fact that these people were probably traumatized, and he was going to probe about in their lives, and also the fact that they were probably tired of being bugged by people. All of his thoughts were gone though, and he lay there, in the grassy median, knocked unconscious. A helmet would’ve been something that he should’ve had on, but today, coincidentally, he left it at his work, not thinking about it at all.
Though he was only there for a few minutes, he awoke, not remembering what exactly had happened. Bumped and bruised, he tried to stand. The first thing he thought of, rather than himself, was his camera equipment that was strapped to the back of his bike in a case. He stumbled over to it, and popped the stop of the case open, just to check if everything was undamaged. Everything, well, everything in the case was fine and dandy, but his vision started to blur, and he thought he was blacking out again, when he realized that this wasn’t something internal.
As blood poured down his face, he scrambled to get his bike back up, and wiped the sticky red liquid from his eyes. He was trying to figure out how far he was exactly from the hospital. His head was more distracting than someone banging a drum right next to his ear, but he looked past it. As he caught sight of his surroundings, he smiled for a brief instant as he was only a short distance from there. What luck!
He was taking a chance getting back on the bike, but he didn’t know how bad his injuries were exactly, and as he started moving again, he wasn’t having such good luck. The feeble attempts he was making to keep the blood out of his eyes weren’t working, and he ended up stumbling into the emergency room entrance, leaving his bike right in front of the doors.
“I—I think I need a doctor?”
He said, smiling weakly, holding his hand over the gash in his head.
He was looking at this project as if it weren’t going to be hard, but it was more difficult than he could ever imagine. There was so much to do, and he was looking through the rest of his life like it didn’t exist. His job at KTLA was more stressful than he gave it credit for, and he was completely leaving that out of his timeline for the project. A few other things he should’ve took into consideration were the fact that these people were probably traumatized, and he was going to probe about in their lives, and also the fact that they were probably tired of being bugged by people. All of his thoughts were gone though, and he lay there, in the grassy median, knocked unconscious. A helmet would’ve been something that he should’ve had on, but today, coincidentally, he left it at his work, not thinking about it at all.
Though he was only there for a few minutes, he awoke, not remembering what exactly had happened. Bumped and bruised, he tried to stand. The first thing he thought of, rather than himself, was his camera equipment that was strapped to the back of his bike in a case. He stumbled over to it, and popped the stop of the case open, just to check if everything was undamaged. Everything, well, everything in the case was fine and dandy, but his vision started to blur, and he thought he was blacking out again, when he realized that this wasn’t something internal.
As blood poured down his face, he scrambled to get his bike back up, and wiped the sticky red liquid from his eyes. He was trying to figure out how far he was exactly from the hospital. His head was more distracting than someone banging a drum right next to his ear, but he looked past it. As he caught sight of his surroundings, he smiled for a brief instant as he was only a short distance from there. What luck!
He was taking a chance getting back on the bike, but he didn’t know how bad his injuries were exactly, and as he started moving again, he wasn’t having such good luck. The feeble attempts he was making to keep the blood out of his eyes weren’t working, and he ended up stumbling into the emergency room entrance, leaving his bike right in front of the doors.
“I—I think I need a doctor?”
He said, smiling weakly, holding his hand over the gash in his head.