I used to love those “choose your own adventure” stories as a kid.  So for anyone interested, or wants to participate, here’s the rules.  There’s only two of them:

Rule 1: You get to say one word or phrase in reply, and that word or phrase gets incorporated into the next bit.

Rule 2: If everyone says “penis”, I hate you.

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Water makes a distinct sound as it passes: a drip, a trickle, a gush, a torrent.  Streams and rivers are born by such passages.  People really aren’t so dissimilar.  We too, find our paths of least resistance.  We too, settle and pool in familiar places.  We too, forge crevasses that define our lives.  It takes powerful influences for us to deviate from those paths, to look for new direction.  And it’s not often that we seek out that change for ourselves.

Dustin turned off the tap.  The hot water system has been playing up for months.  Three minutes was a new record.  Towelling off, the stereo unusually silent, he dressed for the hospital.  The boy’s parents had requested he visit, but he wasn’t sure if he should go.  He wasn’t family.  Hell, he didn’t even know the family.  These people were strangers.  It was an accident, just a spate of random events.  It wasn’t intentional, or even logical.  He’d just reacted.

Dustin played the events out in his mind.  They felt fragmented, like slides scattered across a table.  It wasn’t that he felt puzzled piecing them back together.  They just felt disjointed, like it had happened to someone else.

Daniel, at least that’s what he thought parents had called the boy, had been out riding.  Dustin was a local of the area for a couple of years now.  He had an apartment a few blocks from where it happened.  He’d spotted the boy riding before, though they’d never met, never spoken so much as a word to one-another.  The thoroughfare was often used by kids as the bike lane, so it was a common obstacle for morning joggers.

Daniel must have leashed the dog to his handle bars so that it could run out in front of the bike.  The dog was a Labrador, probably no more than a year or two old.  It seemed young and exuberant, although it was no longer a puppy.  The light coloured coat shone like it was recently washed, and there was an amber glean where the sun caught it.

Riding behind a line of parked cars, Daniel was obscured to oncoming traffic.  It was pretty stupid really, tying the bike to an inquisitive mind.  But he was a kid.  It was innocent.

While the accident itself was over in seconds, Dustin’s recollections of it felt like time played in freeze-frame.

There was a jerk of the handlebars as the dog spied a plastic bag blowing across the road.  A brief pause if as if the canine had weighed the bag’s importance, before a playful whim won out to better training and judgement.  As Daniel’s tire hit the curb it wobbled for a moment.  His instincts made him lean towards the safety of the paved path, but overcompensating, his centre of balance shifted and the bike was dragged out from beneath him.

Daniel was a small kid.  He didn’t have a chance.  The dog took off after the bag with his leg still caught in the frame.  It only managed to get a few feet before the momentum of the bike and its occupant stopped in its tracks.  But that was enough for the dog to be in the middle of the road, while Daniel was left jutting out from the parked cars.  He stopped moving the moment his head met the gutter.

The road itself, being single lane with cars in both directions, had nowhere left for a vehicle to swerve.  Flight or fight.  That’s what they say happens.  Dustin hadn’t thought much about it at the time though.  There were only moments left to react, and a seemingly impossible distance between them.

Dustin couldn’t explain why he threw himself those last few yards.  He just did.  Already worn from exercise, he could feel the strain in his calves and ligaments, and the familiar burn of over-stretching.  In hindsight, he guessed it was around that time that the adrenaline kicked in.  Pain turned to invigoration. His heart pounded in his ears as his steps became less laboured and more propelling.

Five metres between him and the boy.  While there should have been ample time, the car didn’t even seem to be slowing.  Dustin absently wondered whether the driver was paying attention to the road.  They were probably drinking coffee.  He remembered thinking he could use a cup himself.  Four.  In the corner of his eye, Dustin could see the plastic bag had stopped moving.  The dog must have caught up with it.  Good for him.  Three.  Dustin knew he was out of time.  He heard the screech of brakes and he dove forward.  Two.  Dustin’s right hand caught Daniel’s jacket at the shoulder and he yanked hard.  Although unconscious, the boy grunted as he moved.  One.  Using his momentum as his chest hit the bitumen; Dustin’s legs about-faced as his body swivelled across the loose gravel.  Using his size as a shield, he propped the boy’s body against his chest. Impact.  All Dustin could remember after the sound of bike-meeting-fender was a yelp, and the searing pain as if his shoulders had been wrenched from their sockets.

As he fastened the last button on his shirt, Dustin couldn’t help but notice the reflection staring back at him was unfamiliar.  He looked taller somehow.