Speedy Reflexes
That when he was crossing the road, he would see a car speeding at him across the bending at 80 km/h, was totally unexpected. "Blind spot!" he cried. But there was no time for such analysis. The road was one-way. And he was in the middle of it. There was no time to back out. No time to run for it either. The car was just a few couple decameters away from him. The pressure was insurmountable. What to do? The gal at the wheel looked drunk. Clearly, she would not see him. There was only one way out. He dropped to the ground, and lay flat. He was being guided by his well-trained instincts. The car ran over him. But he lived. Because he was laying right between the car's tires.
Just a couple milliseconds ago, a meeting had been convened at the headquarters of the international conglomerate La Brain Inc. Things had slowed down a bit over there. Perhaps a crisis had overcome them.
Conversation ensues between one brain cell and the other:
"Yawn! Boy, I'm tired today. It's been a long day hasn't it?"
"True, I can't wait for instructions from the boss to catch some sleep."
"Oh wait, here's an urgent memorandum. Darn it! We have a meeting tonight at
8 PM. There seems to be an urgency somewhere. Some bizarre signals coming
from the Eye."
Three hours later. At the meeting. Vice President of Operations, Mr. Brain speaks:
"Guys, we have a problem. Over the last couple hours, we've been receiving signals from Mr. Eye about an unidentifiable object we call 'car'."
"This could be a problem," remarks one of the officials. This brain cell was a smart one.
"Yeah, last time we encountered such a thing, it wasn't pleasant at all. Remember, we had to work overtime for months! We need to address this crisis as quickly as we can."
"Oh, I got an idea, why don't we send command to Leg Muscle to just drop and lay flat between the car's tires. Would that not save the day?" Our consultant is incredulously imaginative.
"I'm not sure Mr. Thinker. I'm a bit skeptical about that idea," says the crisis manager. "What if the car swerved?"
"Guys, we need to hurry this. Faxes have been racing all over the place over the last hour. We're in a do or die situation." More pressure from above.
"Alright, alright," quips Mr. Brain. "We'll go with Mr. Thinker's plan. It's the best we can come up with. Keep me updated then. I'm off to the restroom."
Three milliseconds later, it was found that Mr. Thinker's plan had indeed saved the day.
A Little Life
He was always wary about his health. His own priorities came first, most notably his physical strength and stamina. His diet was unimaginably controlled. A bowl of salad everyday to replenish his daily supply of vital nutrients, vitamins, roughage and what not. And exercise, oh exercise was all so important for him. A day without exercise was a day wasted, according to him. When everyone else was sleeping at 8:00 AM Saturdays, one could spot him reading books on how to maintain healthy nutrition and body fitness. His mornings began with an hour's jog around the Stanford campus. If there was anything he could do to keep himself physically fit, that'd be the first thing on his agenda. Even a susurrus around him about how he had gained some weight over the summer break was enough to get him on a week-long workout spree at the local gym. Biking, kayaking, rowing, jogging, kendo, track, swimming — he did everything. Not a single day went without one of these routine essentials. There was little time for fun, little time to enjoy the fine delicacies of life. All this for one petit reason: to keep himself physically fit. And to keep his BMI as perfect as it should be.
Then one fine day, as he was crossing a road, a container truck accidentally ran over him. He was killed quickly and quietly, on the spot. Those extra carrots during meal times didn't help too much. Nor did the Sunday morning weights and bench-presses.
A little life they say…a little life it is.
