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Collide by Andrew David King
happening so fast her foot slender porcelain doll stretching across beaten asphalt stripped palm trees waving thin shadows, the arms of skeletons across her path eyes fixed on clouds the shapes of animals the sound of the desperate commute hushed like the silence between heartbeats the world on its tiptoes across the street on the other pole on the sign the little white lit-up man appears proclaiming “WALK” and candy-apple-red sparkling high-heels dance graciously shopping bags in hand floating, as if weightless at her side her gaze straight-ahead summer breeze whispering rumors in open ears while at the other end of the pavement the predator her opponent rumbles dressed not so kindly in twisted metal and eighteen wheels covered in dirt, silt, and the love of the road suddenly screaming the high-pitched whine of metal against metal and soon no one watching is a spectator she turns her head with calculated precision no expression on her face as of yet silently the light turns red it’s spitting up dirt and gravel pieces of the cracked road careening whining and screaming to stop the dusty faded-paint buildings stare contentedly as if they know what will happen next the second hand clicks twice in a macabre blur the air in the lungs of those watching turns to ice and they freeze no, this isn’t happening not right here, not in front of us oh my god oh sweet jesus no and not one eyelash dares to blink time stands perfectly still the flurry of flesh no match for a machine she flies through the air coming to rest some twenty-odd feet away sprawled, a dead animal on the butcher’s cart her possessions thrown across the four corners of the intersection a red apple rolls to a halt in the gutter all traffic stops all hearts stop momentarily hers, permanently grabbing his hat feebly trembling rushed tears carving canyons out of his face the driver races over to her oh my god oh sweet jesus no and suddenly the wind has stopped whispering two elongated skid marks mark the road that has been beaten time and time before two black fangs reaching out longing to devour the trickle of red that emanates like an aural glow from her skull her eyes open meaninglessly no longer looking at clouds shaped like animals the red river flows down the street into the gutter slowly consuming the bystanders in their minds a deep, vibrant red her candy-apple sparkling high heels the apple that rolled into the gutter red as the stoplight now red like the sirens suddenly painting this twilight horror-show into a dream her final resting place won’t be in a grave but etched forever in minds as her figure, limp lifeless the red flows from her body returning to the earth flowing over off-white degraded crosswalk lines in a street covered with the tattoos of endless forgotten skid marks each one the abrupt end of a story. |
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