Scattered shards line the road, sparkling under motionless headlights – once a window – now squeezed and torn from it’s frame. Cars screech to a halt around it, their drivers stopping to see now.
Car doors open and murmurs and whispers rise as a crowd gathers round, all eyes centred on the road where the sparkles lie.
And there are gasps, hands clasping to mouths as the scene becomes clear, eyes squeezing tight, heads turning away and tears running down cheeks. For some it’s too much. They stumble away from the crowd to throw up and someone else follows and says, ‘Are you ok?’ and rubs them on the back.
In the distance now the sirens are growing nearer, the crowd still stands and stares and struggles to understand.
And it is almost silent. All these people, all the faces, all these voices, but nobody can speak. Nobody can say a thing now. Their eyes just gaze on the spot where the crimson expands, away from him, to where the sparkles lie.
Originally published on Cowbird, 19th November 2012