Narrator: Martin Q. | Surrey, England
I cycle before work. One morning on a wooded stretch of road, I felt somebody breathe into my right ear.
It was warm enough to make me turn my head. I nearly rode into the verge. There was nobody alongside me, and I was wearing a helmet with the straps tight against both cheeks.
I stopped and took it off. The right strap was wet. There was a little crescent of condensation on the inside of my glasses, although I’d been moving fast in cold air.
Then, from inside the helmet I was holding at arm’s length, somebody took a long breath in.
I threw it. It landed beside the road and rolled onto its side. A small patch of dead leaves drew towards the opening and stopped.
I left it there. A decent helmet, too. My wife thinks I had a panic attack and ought to have retrieved it once I’d calmed down. If somebody found it and picked it up, I hope it was only a panic attack.
