Perfect Synchronicity

The clock struck midnight. Twelve booming peals rolled across the city. The sound bounced between houses, reverberated through walls, rattled windows, and woke a fitfully-sleeping heart surgeon exactly six hours early, well before he was set to perform his very first surgery of the heart. He flicked on the light in his room so he could read the clock to see what time it was.

Nearby, a solitary cyclist was bumping her way across the cobblestones, concerned that her frail machine would break down and leave her to walk through the city at night. She glanced up as a light went on, surprised that anyone was rising at this hour. He front wheel hit a large rock. It sent her sprawling onto the ground. She let out a yell as it happened, which was suddenly cut short as she collided with the street.

In an apartment that sat at street level (one of the few street-level doors that didn’t open onto a small shop or restaurant) a teacher jumped up from the abysmal test she was grading. Had someone screamed? Was everyone alright? She ran to the door and peered through the window. She saw the mess of cyclist and cycle lying in a heap. She unbolted the door and rushed out to help.

I had been standing there, lock picks at the ready, preparing to work my way inside the shop next door once the cyclist was out of sight, when I heard the sound of a door unbolting. I fled, ducking around the corner into an alleyway. As I ducked I decked myself with a low-hanging sign. It must have been quite the sign for quite the shop, because the painted metal was hefty enough to lay me out flat. I floated motionless in the air for several minutes, then rushed at the ground with such speed as I have never felt before. I could hear my skull crack for just the briefest moment, and then I could hear nothing at all.