Thirty-Five

 

There was something remarkably comforting about flying down the highway at breakneck speed.  The only sounds to be heard were the rush of the wind and the deep bass rumble of his motorcycle's well-tuned engine.

Jason Morgan's crystal blue gaze swung back and forth along the sparsely populated interstate highway.  Though he only encountered an occasional vehicle here and there, Jason knew that in less than two hours the smooth strip of black asphalt would be teeming with fellow travelers looking to begin their day.

Smoothly Jason maneuvered his bike around a piece of wooden debris lying across the highway.  It was exactly that type of thing that Jason scanned his surroundings for.  He did not attempt to occupy his mind with thoughts of Port Charles or plans for his return there.  Since the car accident that damaged his brain, abstract thinking was no longer possible for Jason.  He dealt only with things that were tangible.

Jason paused to enjoy the subtle change in pitch as his motorcycle automatically shifted gears.  Before the big bike could settle into its new rhythm, however, Jason's world shifted into ultra slow motion.  The bike's forward progress immediately ceased.  It was as though the front end of the motorcycle suddenly collided with a solid wall stretched invisibly across the interstate.

The mob hit man felt a violent jerk.  Jason fought his body's instinctive urge to react to what was happening beneath him.  The rear of the motorcycle rose up into the air and Jason felt himself fly over the handlebars.  He futilely tucked himself into a tight ball, but it was not enough.  The basic laws of physics were immutable.  A body in motion remains in its current motion until acted upon by an outside force.

That outside force the solid asphalt highway was the last thing Jason saw before everything went black.

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