Crash Car.

So, this is a piece inspired by Martin Amis's Time's Arrow which is a novel that takes place in reverse. Through this book, you travel backwards through time with what could be described as the protagonist's conscience. It is a very good book, I highly recommend it.

And this is my take on the technique...


Crash Car

When he awoke, it was not with a sudden gasp or jerked motion, but with a spiralling blurry feeling, like when he went under for his knee op last summer. What he registered first was the smell, what was that? Smoke, burnt rubber and sweat were there among the layers, along with something else. Petrol.

As the fog lifted he looked around, rotating just his eyeballs. His head hurt too much to move. Pressed up against him was a white balloon, it restricted his vision, the smoke billowing under the bonnet did much the same. His face felt wet, the rest of his body seemed not to register apart from a dull, low ache. He tried to move, but couldn’t. His legs were pinned together, terminally embraced by the chassis. Everything around him was silent, as if inhaling in eager anticipation, his own breathing the only sound.

And then, with an all-encompassing crunch he was thrown back. The inflatable folded itself neatly and instantly into the steering wheel. The brick wall in front of him began to slide away, he couldn’t take his eyes off it. The metal around him twisted and buckled, a symphonic cacophony silenced by the screeching of brakes. He has his foot slammed hard on the pedal.

 And then he heard her scream. It stopped and started suddenly, as if with the press of a button.

How did she sneak in here? She wasn’t here a minute ago, he would have heard her whining. God he was pissed off with her, she just goes on and on. The radio was blaring, they were shouting over it. The veins on her neck bulged and her eyes were swollen by crying. He stared at her, she looks so ugly when she cries, all snot and spit.

His hands gripped the steering wheel hard as they flew around the corner, red lights first. All around them puddles formed themselves into columns and shot skyward, fleetingly illuminated by the retreating headlights.

                           
                                                                            
And sticking with the backwards theme:

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