Was driving back to college (with fresh laundry, natch) when I
arrived first on the scene of a car wreck. Two shattered cars
smoking, wheels still spinning, and bodies scattered along the
highway. Pulled over, put the flashers on, and ran out to try to help.
On the road, a guy wearing cowboy boots. He had no face. Must have
been propelled face-down along the road for many yards. A couple
yards away, a young woman arching her back and making gurgling
sounds, her arms in impossible positions. Another part of a person
against a grade, unidentifiable gender, was clearly dead. A
fractured leg dangling from the back seat of one of the wrecked cars.
Got towels out of the laundry bag and tried to elevate the guy's
faceless head and minimally stabilize the gurgling woman. Ran out of
towels and switched to blue jeans.
It was all so futile, everyone dying around me, no skills and no way
to help. Other cars stopped. Other people came. Eventually an
ambulance. Throughout there was just a sense of helplessness and
urgency, but no horror or hysteria.
Left my blood soaked clothes at the roadside, and drove. I could cry
about it afterwards in my dorm room.
No horror. I wonder why? You'd think there would be horror, but
there was only shock, shock and despair at helplessness.
Later I found an account in the local newspaper. A bunch of actors
leaving the area after summer stock at a playhouse. No survivors.
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