Gravity, Please Strangle Me

It’s been seven minutes and I’ve violated the rules three times. Seven minutes and I understand complicitly I will never again possess confidence on a par with a seven year old.

Knees not pliable. Eyes fearing any kind of height. Look like a dog when I jump and it is more than the hair flopping around my ears. A St. Bernard would be more supple. I shouldn’t be the one shouting, “I did it!”. Gravity never seemed so fleeting.

The film Gravity has nothing on this. My galaxy brain spins to wonder at why it wasn’t more down to earth and again Sandy and Georgie boy taking their kids to the trampoline park. Clooney grimacing as he wonders if it’s a strained or pulled calf muscle.

Sandra hurtling ungainly down the trampoline runway with child before losing control and being admonished that it’s only one person at a time by the sinister trampoline gestapo watching their every move. In reality summer job teens, but they scare the heck out of all who come upon them.

A break in the action/jeopardy as we cut to a flashback of our couple’s first meeting triggered by the stick grip socks provided. Gummy as the nightclub floor where they met when the world seemed bright, happy and nothing could stop their ascent. It’s all pulled short by a terrifying three foot leap from a balance beam into a foam pit.

A cameo for that bloke from Eastenders attempting to nail Jordan and LaVine style dunks on the dodgeball court with its hoops, only to be carted off later with a concussion.

Things take a turn for the worst in the Big Air Arena as control is lost and Clooney does in his knees. He limps off to lick his wounds in the car leaving Sandy to land everybody back to solid ground.

Not sure I’d actually watch that to be honest, but writing about it has been a good excuse to avoid my own bouncy hell for ten minutes. I’m going to rush back to avoid taking another sip of this vile excuse for a slushie I have been lumbered with. Prayers up to my knees!


Scott Cumming never considered himself to be a writer until recently, but turns out he has some stuff to say. He has been published at The Daily Drunk, Punk Noir Magazine, Versification, and Shotgun Honey. His debut poetry chapbook is due for release in December. Host of the Modus Operandi: Flash Fiction podcast and runs Waxing Poetic, a YouTube channel devoted to the best recent poetry from around the net. Twitter: @tummidge Website: scottcummingwriter.wordpress.com

Categories: Essay, Film

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Shawn Berman runs The Daily Drunk. You can follow him on Twitter @Sbb_writer.

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