In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mouth Drop.”
I must implore you not to laugh, snicker or snort when you read this ;), even though I struggle to keep a straight face myself as I recall my brief experience in flying without wings. I promise you, it was never my intention to take R. Kelly’s – I believe I can fly too seriously.
As was the case, it was not my mouth that dropped open, but the whole
body of me!
Several months ago, I made a decision to start jogging at twilight and purchased spanking new gym outfit to give myself a boost and a rush.
Feeling all geared to go, I set off for my first run and joined by my first son, I took off as swiftly as I could.
The light evening breeze was cool, my music was on shuffle and I was generally having a good time. As my sprint quickened, out of the blues, I stumbled over a cobble stone and I literally flew a few yards in the air and landed in the brush with a heavy thud.
For several minutes, I lay there winded and all I could feel was the taste of pain that rushed from my left shoulder right into my throat. It was a metallic taste.
My son who had shot off ahead of me like a whistle, looked back and when he didn’t see my robust shadow following him, he back tracked and helped me get back on my feet.
I hobbled home and nursed my pain along with my wounded pride. My crazy desire for twilight jogging nicely nipped in the bud.