This blog post is a ten-minute timed writing exercise from writers.stackexchange.com.Visit the Writers chat room every Tuesday for new writing exercises.
He felt the weight of the scissors slide off his fingers as his hand dropped to his side. The sidewalk stretched at a crazy tilt in front of him, then rushed up to meet his face. He thought the blow would hurt, but the only noticeable effect of impact was the strange sensation of air running out of his lungs.
Hands turned him over. Voices called his name. “Alex!” Muffled shouting made his head feel like a marshmallow. His eyes opened and closed, searching for something he couldn’t place. “Alex!” A glimmer like a golden thread ran up from his face, and his eyes focused on his wife’s hair. She was crying, his hand clutched to her lips. He smiled at her, thinking about how her smile flashed in the sun on the day he had proposed, how her hair had reached back toward him even as she had skipped away through the field of daisies. He felt her running from him now, but he couldn’t reach her this time, couldn’t put his arms around her waist and pull her down to him.