A fight is not won by one punch or kick. Either learn to endure or hire a bodyguard.
—BRUCE LEE
Time slowed down. It seemed as if I hung suspended in midair for long seconds. There was plenty of time to think about how I might be able to land on my feet. Or launch myself into a forward roll.
Plenty of time to observe that I was actually not doing anything.
And finally I came down to earth.
My bound left wrist hit the ground first, taking most of the impact. It became a pivot point around which the rest of my body rotated. The pressure on my left forearm increased and increased, until finally I felt something in it snap, just above my wrist.
Momentum wasn’t done with me yet. My arms might have come to a stop when they met the road, but the rest of me was still moving. My feet flew over my head. Somehow I managed to keep my head from hitting the pavement. It was nothing like the forward roll I had imagined pulling off. Instead, I was slammed flat onto my back, driving all the air from my lungs.
Lying on the roadway, I looked up at the distant stars. It felt like the universe had hit the pause button. It felt like I might never breathe again. I was pretty sure I was badly damaged, maybe beyond repair. But I didn’t care. I felt curiously detached.
And then my lungs spasmed. I took a jagged, involuntary gasp, and the air rushed back in.
With it came the pain. It started at my broken wrist, spread to my ribs and head, and then suddenly it was everywhere. The pain was as big as the sun, and it swallowed me.
I was broken. I couldn’t fly, I couldn’t roll, I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t even imagine moving.
I heard the van screech to a stop, and the engine shut off, followed by footsteps.
Standing over me, the man blocked out the nearly full moon. He swore. When he bent down to gather me up, I passed out.