the basketball super star loses his right leg

the basketball super star loses his right leg

fiction
edward w pritchard

One chomp from the tiger and the leg was gone from below the knee down. The tiger didn't even eat the leg; too much muscle said the ambulance driver about twenty minutes later. But the ambulance driver may have been drinking.

Time slowed for the super star then. Everything was blurred but crystal clear and as he died the celebrity athlete saw the structure that every day events were composed of. He was in shock he guessed after the tiger bit off his lower leg and he knew he would die soon.

At the photo shoot all was pandemonium. The backup model had been calm. She called 911. She knew I wouldn't make it. She was beautiful in a sad way and if I wasn't dieing soon I wish I could call her. The policeman tied the tourniquet and propped up my head, out of respect. He had seen me in game four at the arena he said to the Doctor at the emergency room.

The camera guy was throwing up. Over and over, there was a lot of blood. This kind of blood is a strange color. Shocking to see. His assistant used an umbrella, one of the props for the shoot, to slide my leg away from the tiger and he wrapped it his jacket. It's cold here in April.

The tiger has blood on his face. He's just sitting there. The handler hit the tiger hard several times after she got the leg out of his mouth. Mostly for posturing. Her career as a animal handler just got smashed, I see it her face. She won't look at me. She gave the tiger several shots of something and the tiger is looking drowsy and foolish. The tiger must be used to be treated like an object.
I can't tell why the tiger bit me but it was remarkable how fast the tiger moved. I am not as quick as I was when I was playing but the tiger had remarkable reflexes.

It's hot in here and I can smell the tiger. After he bit me I could smell the aggression in the air. I smell old to myself. The lead model in the shoot keeps wanting to leave but she is supposed to press the towels against my upper calf muscle and change the towels when they get too blood red. The backup model is holding my head up and giving me sips of the Pepsi. It's a Pepsi shoot, I guess someone else will have to finish my twelve million dollar campaign this Summer and Fall.

The camera man is whispering to the policeman but I can hear every word. The camera man is thinking this will be bad for him too. He might lose work. He wants the policeman to let him take a few pictures before the ambulance arrives. The policeman is black too. He starts protecting me after that. He has his gun drawn from before. He didn't have to shoot the tiger. The trainer quickly got the animal under control. Now the tiger can barely keep his head up from the drugs. Someone should wipe my blood from the tigers face.

I have put on some weight. It's a little embarrassing. The policeman and the backup model had to help the two ambulance guys lift me on the gurney. They laid my leg on the gurney too. The back-up model squeezed my hand when we left. I never meet the right person at the right time. It's always that way with me. If Shelton's ever gets here I am going to tell him to give her some more jobs. Maybe he can arrange it with the Pepsi guys. Shelton's a good agent but he never seems to be around when I need him. I am not going to worry about that. I feel really strange laying here. I am surprised I am still alive. It hurts up in my back for some reason.

I can smell the Bacardi on the driver's breath. He's good at this though. He looks me straight in the eyes and he treats me with respect. He looks like he has had a hard life. He's in charge of these two guys in the ambulance.

I wonder if John Lennon was in pain after he got shot when he went to the emergency room. My back is aching. I heard a shot when we were in the elevator, They must have shot the tiger as soon as i left.

Shelton never did show up. He just lost his best client. I guess this is the end for me.