Strewn

Strewn is not a word you think you'll ever use. Certainly not in a sentence like the bodies were strewn along the sidewalk, bent at awkward or possibly impossible angles.

There was a car in the middle of the road, a hole in the front windshield that went from one end to the other. A naked axle visible where a tire should have been. On the sidewalk, further away than an Olympian could jump from a running start, a male body was squeezed in between a tire and the wall of a building, surrounded by a sea of shining glass. The body's neck was bent in such a way that even if it was still alive, at that angle I doubt an airway could have been formed. The other body was slumped next to him. Her head was on the pavement, behind her there was a splatter of red against the wall. What you might expect to see if you took a ripe tomato and threw it with all your strength at a forty five degree angle, when it hit, that would be the same splatter.

People all around had their cell phones out, talking into them. There was a guy without any shirt on, his arm held up in the air, wrapped up in red cloth, walking around saying "my arm is bleeding. My arm is bleeding." Another guy running back and forth down the street, crying out over and over again for a doctor. From the people who weren't on their cell phones you could hear that the other driver kept going. Didn't even stop.

If I was a mother of little children, there would be a moral appended here. Something about looking before crossing the street. Or maybe to always wear your seat belt. A cop might say that the two bodies on the ground had elevated levels of alcohol in their bloodstream. Or maybe some kind of drugs would be found in the car. But I'm not a mother. And I'm not a cop.