3. Dairy entry 1
It was raining and the drops reflected the yellow of the streetlights. There had been an accident. Cars were sprawled across the street, the shining metal interspersed with bobbing, black heads. It spoiled the uniformity of moving metal bodies on the street. Men milled around the crash scene, busy and worried. Yellow light shone off the water and sweat on their faces, their rough faces and though it wasn't beautiful, it was fascinating.
The men pulled the cars off the middle of the street. It began raining more heavily and everything got even more translucent, chrome and unclear. If you leaned out of your window and looked up, it would be all streaks of golden in the light of the lamps that stung your face. And it was loud, the drops hammering off the car tops and heads, and the babble of voices.
Broken glass lay spilt, light against the dark asphalt. The pieces shone as the jarred edges reflected the light. Some shone a pale red with blood that had oozed out from under the driver's seat. The car had toppled over onto it's side and the man in the seat, crushed and dead, sat with his mouth open, soaked in rainwater. His face was almost clean and water pooled in his mouth. Diluted blood ran in little rivulets across the road, accumulating in little puddles off the side of the road, mixing with the mud, rippling in the rain.
An ambulance arrived, wailing, and the crowd parted like scurrying ants away. The medics wore shiny, dark nylon overcoats. They crowded around the dead man, picking at his clothes in a practiced, efficient way.
Then I saw her, in the middle of the crowd. Standing and staring. She wouldn't get wet. She didn't glow yellow like the rest of everything did. She just stood. Then they pulled her body out of the wreck.
As they pulled the bodies away, she looked at them long and hard and said just one word.
Papa.
It was raining and the drops reflected the yellow of the streetlights. There had been an accident. Cars were sprawled across the street, the shining metal interspersed with bobbing, black heads. It spoiled the uniformity of moving metal bodies on the street. Men milled around the crash scene, busy and worried. Yellow light shone off the water and sweat on their faces, their rough faces and though it wasn't beautiful, it was fascinating.
The men pulled the cars off the middle of the street. It began raining more heavily and everything got even more translucent, chrome and unclear. If you leaned out of your window and looked up, it would be all streaks of golden in the light of the lamps that stung your face. And it was loud, the drops hammering off the car tops and heads, and the babble of voices.
Broken glass lay spilt, light against the dark asphalt. The pieces shone as the jarred edges reflected the light. Some shone a pale red with blood that had oozed out from under the driver's seat. The car had toppled over onto it's side and the man in the seat, crushed and dead, sat with his mouth open, soaked in rainwater. His face was almost clean and water pooled in his mouth. Diluted blood ran in little rivulets across the road, accumulating in little puddles off the side of the road, mixing with the mud, rippling in the rain.
An ambulance arrived, wailing, and the crowd parted like scurrying ants away. The medics wore shiny, dark nylon overcoats. They crowded around the dead man, picking at his clothes in a practiced, efficient way.
Then I saw her, in the middle of the crowd. Standing and staring. She wouldn't get wet. She didn't glow yellow like the rest of everything did. She just stood. Then they pulled her body out of the wreck.
As they pulled the bodies away, she looked at them long and hard and said just one word.
Papa.
The sound carried past the distance to me. It was like she wanted me to hear.
to be continued...
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