Road Safety
She didn’t see nor feel it happen, it happened so quickly that she nearly missed it. Her first indication of anything different was a quivering voice. The voice of a stranger.
He and his type were the boy racers. He was taking a country road shortcut home after a get together with his mates where they had enjoyed beer and burnouts. At age 19 he was a veteran of impromptu and unofficial gatherings, where young men flouted the road laws and drank heavily. He was living life close to the edge of society.
She was the wife of a businessman and lived a comfortable lifestyle with her family in the country. She was 35 years old and living life in the mainstream of society.
She had been visiting her mother and with the promise of her oldest daughter cooking the evening meal, she was eager to get home without delay.
She was familiar with the road and felt she was a competent driver, though she knowingly urged the turbocharged diesel to take her speed higher than normal. With a desire to justify a possible late arrival, she looked down and reached for her mobile phone.
Midway through Pink Floyds ‘Us and Them’, he slowed toward a compulsory stop and reached across to turn up the volume for the full impact of his favourite.
He misjudged the intersection, he wasn’t speeding. Just pissed.
She also misjudged the intersection, she wasn’t drunk. Just speeding.
The front of her four wheel drive Bighorn, impaled his drivers door at a speed in excess of one hundred kilometres per hour, killing him instantly. The high energy engagement of steel, flesh and bone made such a retort that it startled a nearby farmer who was herding cows for the evening milk.
She is trapped in her car, the stranger eyes her injuries and in the fair way that farmers are with life, he comforts her.
Her brain is confused and she can’t move, with her eyes open she can see lights and twisted metal. The strangers face is with her, a troubled brow urges her to remain still and to wait. She is aware of her own blood and there is some pain but it’s easing. Slowly sinking back into herself she worries about her dinner appointment and her family. The pain is gone, the lights have disappeared and there is no more twisted steel. There is the residual sensation of the stranger’s voice along with the fading rush of life. She realises that she will not get home and the only thing remaining, as she gently crosses from life to death, is her new voice, the new but vaguely familiar voice of her soul.
He and his type were the boy racers. He was taking a country road shortcut home after a get together with his mates where they had enjoyed beer and burnouts. At age 19 he was a veteran of impromptu and unofficial gatherings, where young men flouted the road laws and drank heavily. He was living life close to the edge of society.
She was the wife of a businessman and lived a comfortable lifestyle with her family in the country. She was 35 years old and living life in the mainstream of society.
She had been visiting her mother and with the promise of her oldest daughter cooking the evening meal, she was eager to get home without delay.
She was familiar with the road and felt she was a competent driver, though she knowingly urged the turbocharged diesel to take her speed higher than normal. With a desire to justify a possible late arrival, she looked down and reached for her mobile phone.
Midway through Pink Floyds ‘Us and Them’, he slowed toward a compulsory stop and reached across to turn up the volume for the full impact of his favourite.
He misjudged the intersection, he wasn’t speeding. Just pissed.
She also misjudged the intersection, she wasn’t drunk. Just speeding.
The front of her four wheel drive Bighorn, impaled his drivers door at a speed in excess of one hundred kilometres per hour, killing him instantly. The high energy engagement of steel, flesh and bone made such a retort that it startled a nearby farmer who was herding cows for the evening milk.
She is trapped in her car, the stranger eyes her injuries and in the fair way that farmers are with life, he comforts her.
Her brain is confused and she can’t move, with her eyes open she can see lights and twisted metal. The strangers face is with her, a troubled brow urges her to remain still and to wait. She is aware of her own blood and there is some pain but it’s easing. Slowly sinking back into herself she worries about her dinner appointment and her family. The pain is gone, the lights have disappeared and there is no more twisted steel. There is the residual sensation of the stranger’s voice along with the fading rush of life. She realises that she will not get home and the only thing remaining, as she gently crosses from life to death, is her new voice, the new but vaguely familiar voice of her soul.
posted by Bruce at 1:43 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home