Crash

Short fiction

Photo by ian dooley on Unsplash

“What the-”
We jump as the
smash
crack
crash
reverberates through our house. I let go of Paula’s hand and the conversation stops. A brief pause as our heads turn to look at the window (blinds drawn, can’t see outside) then turn back to look at one another. Without a word, we race out the front door, phones in hand to survey the horror that greets our eyes.
Imagine this — a metal form, front end concertinaed, nose up against the wide trunk of the statuesque gum tree that provides handy shade over the median strip, good for when you are trying to cross the busy road. Not so good now. The metal buckles and folds like an origami construction that has been attempted by clumsy giant hands. The driver’s side is a mess, although the front wheel still spins slowly, idly, up in the air. There is glass and plastic all over the ground, littered like confetti. Cars are slowing down, pulling to a halt around us to survey the dread. In my daze, I think to myself, “How did it get there?”
Paula shouts at me, “There are two people inside. There are two people inside.”
I don’t know why she’s shouting at me; is she shouting for them? Can they hear her? Through the dim street light and the shattered windscreen, I can see them. One is a girl, the other I’m not sure; the mess of blood obscures view. Are they alive? My heart rises up in my chest — the girl must be only a teenager. Paula is calling Emergency on her phone and trying…