Dan Oldfield
Stories (4/0)
Mac
MAC It was the sting of the ice pellets against his face that woke him. That and the extreme pain. As he lay crumpled in the snow, Sam could barely remember how he got there. The Yamaha snowmobile he was riding lay in a silent, dark, twisted heap. He could now feel the warmth of blood as it trickled from the gash in his forehead and blurred the vision in his left eye. The visor on his helmet had been ripped off and he noticed as he took it off, the helmet itself had been cracked.
By Dan Oldfield2 years ago in Families
Mac
MAC It was the sting of the ice pellets against his face that woke him. That and the extreme pain. As he lay crumpled in the snow, Sam could barely remember how he got there. The Yamaha snowmobile he was riding lay in a silent, dark, twisted heap. He could now feel the warmth of blood as it trickled from the gash in his forehead and blurred the vision in his left eye. The visor on his helmet had been ripped off and he noticed as he took it off, the helmet itself had been cracked.
By Dan Oldfield2 years ago in Fiction