It was the curse, Brian knew. The iron taste of blood flooded his mouth as his lip broke on the inside of his helmet. The wild scraping of metal and plastic rang through the twilight air mingled with the screams of the children he had swerved to avoid. The impact his helmet made against the ground caused lights to dance before his eyes. He could feel the ground tearing at his torso and arms. Luckily his tough leather jacket took most of the impact with little damage. His jeans however were not as sturdy. Brian could feel the serrated knife of the ground rip through the denim like paper to rip the flesh of his knee. The metallic whine of his skidding motorcycle was like a dirge to his ears. Out of the corner of his eye he could see sparks flashing from the skidding metal.