So you remember all the other project stuff I talked about a while back? That's all been pushed off the table, at least for now. I need to focus on one thing, and I think the following might be just what the doctor ordered....

So I have a new icon. It's pretty mysterious. It's a person biking through a thin blanket of snow in the middle of the night. (It's easier to see with the larger resolution) I found it online in part of a meme on 9gag, and it intrigued me so much that I had to copy it. Now, my imagination has begun to wander, and I have some story ideas....

I'll post the fullsize pic shortly.

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He went down hard. He heard rather than felt his head hit. Suddenly his eyes were full of spiraling false lights, streetlights, stars, faded half-images...He felt a hot trickle slowly seeping down, down, down. He closed his eyes to shut out the lights, but the pounding in his head only intensified. Through the dull thrum of his own blood pumping, he could just make out the sound of the ragged breath escaping his mouth, precious heat escaping with each puff. He pressed himself into the snow, letting the thin layer of cold soothe his exploding temples.
He opened his eyes at last, found himself staring into a small black puddle, his own black ice. Such a cruel irony...His bicycle lay a few feet away, one wheel still slowly spinning in the air. A few lone flakes drifted about on a thin breeze. Again he felt the glare of the streetlight skewering into his skull. He cried out in pain and clutched his head, thinking it could burst at any moment like a watermelon under a sledgehammer. He quickly grabbed two handfuls of snow and pressed one to each temple.
After some time, he managed to sit up. Somehow he found himself looking the opposite direction of where he had been going. He scooted around on his backside, coming to face the large shadow at the end of the street. He had been riding for some time, yet it was no closer. His head was still pounding, he couldn't think straight. He tore off a hunk of his scarf and made a makeshift bandage. It quickly slipped, and he threw it into the snow. Useless!
Sighing, he pulled himself up the lamppost into a standing position. His pants were soaked from snow and sleet. He hastily removed them and began shaking them out. One two three four five six seven eight nine...fifty-eight fifty-nine sixty...one-nineteen one-twenty. He jumped back into his semi-dry trousers and fastened the belt. It might even be warmer to go without...no matter. Wiping crusted blood from his forehead, he set about righting his bicycle. Not a scratch on her, lucky girl. Tires still solid with air. Brakes good. Seat untouched, smooth leather. He lifted her by her handle up into position--DAMN! No no nonononono...Oh for the love of...The contents of the basket were obliterated. The thermos lay broken open on the snow, its contents dashed about. Meanwhile, his camera was soaked through. He hurled it off into the darkness, giving it every word he knew that fit.
His hand slipped unconsciously into his jacket pocket. His lighter was still there, in one piece. Of course, he hadn't landed on that side. He immediately checked the other pocket and instantly drew back as if bitten. He carefully dumped the contents onto the icy ground. Glass shards tinkled and twinkled to the snow like so many icicles. Then the device itself landed with a muffled thud. So this was hell.
He felt the need to urinate. He sought out the patch of ice that had tossed him for a loop, unzipped his pants, and melted it into a small circle of concrete. Hello, sidewalk old friend. Good to see you again. The familiar sight was promptly swallowed up as new flakes began to stick to the hot wet surface. He turned back, lifted his bike, and began once more his trek through the dead, snowy midnight.