The story of the accident
I told you the story of how Wells taught me how to ride a bicycle darling. Well, I had an accident yesterday. I thought I had learnt the mechanics of cycling and I wanted to bike around the village rather than walk for a change. In hindsight, maybe I shouldn’t have worn my long white skirt but it felt so light on that warm day. Look at my legs and arms darling they’re all bruised. Ah well, at least the bruises remind me of blue velvet.
I was doing rather well, cycling just outside the village; the weather was sunny so most of the villagers were indoors, hanging their couture or taking siestas. I could feel my hair skimming my back while my smoking slippers covered feet intensified their pedalling when this car suddenly approached and in my attempt to avoid collision I tumbled and hit a pole, and more than one rose.
Cars had never before been seen around the village, so you must imagine my surprise. The two women came out of the car and ran towards me to see if I was alright. I was lying on the roses, recalling what Milton wrote in Paradise Lost about, “Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose,” while my back bore the pricks of each thorn.
They asked if I was alright while their gowns brushed my bruised skin. They looked like summer; one with the whitest of gowns and the other in a light blue dress, and for a moment there I went back to Paradise Lost and the time when everything was untainted.
They wanted to help me up but I was enjoying lying there amid English roses shielding me from the sun. I told them I was alright and after apologising for a good while, they left me to lie there, which I did, for an immeasurable time.
Story credit: Tim Walker for British Vogue (image).