Westerly Willy Wumbo: Urban Mirage

Blazing over the ground, Westerly Willy Wumbo walked with an incredible speed. He glanced sideward, and up - the clouds were trekking a forty-five degree angle toward hysteria. The horizon squared off like a bandit, stealing rounded territory with otherworldly abandon.

Willy could not feel the earth. His heels skimmed grass and concrete with sparkling speed. Each turn forced his legs upwards, to one side, whipping around corners like dukes of hazard.

Incredible, Willy was. Footborne his motto, he had always gone by land. By the time he was sixteen, he had upped his walking speed to 60 km an hour. He had no need for a driver’s license. Willy’s walk was wistful (walkers sometimes waddle).

Still the landscape cubed. Curves going straight on new, turgid sky-scapes. Westerly Willy winced as he hurdled a hot-dog stand. Seven pretzel vendors ducked in succession as Willy weaved speed trails through the city.

Subway breeze Saturday, as the Western one walks across a crowded market. Coats and hair fly, revealing secret legs and foreheads. A tomato falls on the butcher’s wife.

Westerly Willy Wumbo walked without destination. He had reached a speed from which he could never slow down. Insecurity over his ability to re-accelerate kept him in perpetual fast-motion.

Willy feared the corners. The man-made streets beneath him were no challenge; it was the box-car horizon which Willy Wumbo was wary of. It came at him without horn or whistle - silent, predatory sky, moving as quickly as him.

Jetting across the land, Willy checked his earlobes for malfunction. The air screamed seven-syllable mantras in battalions. Armies whistling prayers without AMEN. Westerly Willy twirled, the corner invisible for a moment in the rapture of his spin.

The sun surfed the horizontal axis and made the hard-turn down, slipping the west side on a fire-pole track to the core. Willy witnessed the drop, speed increasing ten-fold, until he blurred due West, like a bullet to a kill.

The view was orange-amber movements of colour and soul. Westerly Willy, heading West, slid his left leg forward. Skidding toward the sun, he began to lose speed. Oh! Freedom in fire! Oh! Slowly curving mirage!

Then, static like wisdom, silent like knowledge - Westerly Willy Wumbo soaked in the sphere of the still.

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