Westerly Willy Wumbo: Urban Mirage
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.
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.
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 drivers license. Willys walk was wistful (walkers sometimes
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.
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 butchers
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.
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.
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
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.
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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