Page 21 of All the Drama from New York

The next thing he knew, the mountain of brown paper and string had launched itself at him. Someone squealed in panic.

It might have been him, but he wasn’t sure.

Arms flailing out at the side, his feet went out from under him and Ryan went down. His back hit the pavement, followed quickly by his head. This time he was certain he was the one who let out a loud, “Ooof!”

He was still trying to figure out which way was up, when out of nowhere pieces of fabric began to rain down upon him.

Ryan saw red.

Then blue.

Then white.

Then red with white spots.

A second later a body landed on top of him. The owner of the body let out, a heavily accented, “Fucking merde!”

Ryan lifted a hand to his stomach. Something sharp was pressing into the front of his shirt. Was that a stiletto?

“Oh, mon Dieu! Are you alright?” said a female voice.

The sharp thing mercifully shifted from his stomach. When the weight of the body lifted off him, Ryan was granted instant relief.

He looked up and for a brief moment he saw only the blue of the New York City sky. At least it had stopped raining colors.

And then a beautiful face appeared in front of him. It was like looking at an angel. Pale skin, and with a halo of blonde hair. And those eyes. So perfectly blue they couldn’t be real. The sight of this ethereal creature could only mean one thing.

“If you are an angel, does that mean I’m dead?”

She let out the most non-ethereal like splutter. “I’m no angel, just a clumsy French woman. One whose day has already been bad enough without adding a murder charge to it.”

Ryan slowly came round to his senses, taking in his surroundings. He was lying on the sidewalk. There were one or two people gathered about, or was that above, him? Some guy in a dark blue business suit was busy videoing everything.

Don’t bother offering to help buddy, just keep filming. Asshole.

Ryan had a splitting headache. His back and stomach both hurt. And there was all this fabric, and brown paper strewn everywhere.

The angel who’d declared she wasn’t an angel smiled down at him. “Do you think you could sit up, or do you need me to call an ambulance?”

His body was in a world of pain, but his mind was clear. “Yes, I think so. And no, whatever you do, don’t call for an ambulance or a doctor.”

He’d been fired and his cheap medical insurance had probably already lapsed.

The other onlookers moved aside as Ryan rolled over on the sidewalk and struggled to his knees. He frowned at the largebrown package which lay close to him on the pavement. It was split open on one side revealing some sort of blue cotton.

His brain finally made the connection. The brown stringy thing that had attacked him was actually a large brown paper parcel of fabric.

A gentle hand now rubbed over his back. He found it surprisingly soothing.

“I am so sorry. I tried to move out of your way, but you followed my move. And then the big package on the very top of my pile slipped and I couldn’t stop it. I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you stand.”

“Just give me a moment. I think I might have smacked my head on the sidewalk when I fell.”

While the woman continued to offer up her frantic apologies, Ryan slowly got to his feet. His legs swayed unsteadily as he fully righted himself. His angelic assailant as he’d now dubbed her, took a hold of his arm. “Just stand there for a moment, and let the blood flow come back to your head. I’d hate for you to faint.”

Yeah, so would I.

His head slowly cleared, and the pain mercifully subsided enough that he could breathe easily once more. There would be bruises aplenty tomorrow, but from the look of things he’d been spared major bodily damage.

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