Sirens. Flashing lights and wet pavement. Feet kept crossing his view at wierd angles. He would see them and then things would go dark. Strange voices and unknown faces would rouse him from a slumber he so badly felt he needed, asking questions he couldn't answer.
Was it that he didn't know or that his mouth wouldn't cooperate? He tried to move and sharp pain shot up his left side. His bladder released when his body couldn't curl itself into a ball from the pain. It hurt so bad his mind shrieked in place of his lost voice. All his energy seemed to be wicking out of him.
Someone in a uniform shot something into his arm. He looked up in time to see men and women getting the stretcher in place. They didn't have high hopes. Everything in their actions looked too dour. They moved efficiently but he sensed they didn't believe he had much chance. Someone lost his footing and the stretcher tipped. His head rolled and he saw the residual effect of what was only a flash in his mind. The 150 Sprint was on its side against a light pole off the corner of the intersection, the cowls blown off both sides. The bike was totalled but his mind only registered the missing side panels.
The gurney was lifted and two figures climbed in the ambulance with him. More sirens as another needle pressed itself into his side. Everything went dark again.