He looked at the car right behind.
Blurry, his vision. Tired, too.
Looked for things to hold onto.
Couldn’t find any.
Saw a bike lying on the road.
Realised that it was his.
His first buy. From his first salary.
Tried reaching for it.
He couldn’t.
Pressing his hand against the floor wasn’t
helping, either.
His hands were bleeding.
He could hear something.
People, he thought to himself.
Put his hand up in the air.
‘Up in the air’ was just a few inches above
the ground.
He was looking for help.
Some help.
Some kind.
Water, at the least.
Didn’t find any.
A few
consider it bad manners to look closely at other people in public.
Red. His favourite colour.
He saw it splashed all around.
Right in front of his eyes.
A little, on the white car behind him.
On the bonnet, specifically.
He pressed his hand against the ground.
Again.
A little harder this time.
Screamed out his son’s name.
In agony.
Some
feel that responsibilities are diffused and diluted.
He could hear something.
People, he was sure.
Raised his hand high up.
High was high enough.
He saw a vague figure.
Man or woman he couldn’t figure.
He heard someone asking him something.
It’s a man, he thought.
He couldn’t hear him.
His brain was shut.
And so were his eyes.
Almost.
He heard a loud, irritating noise.
Followed by a lot of babble.
People. He was happy.
For once.
He felt lighter in his head.
He smiled.
Through his eyes, he could see.
He could see a van.
He felt that it was a van.
He could see bright, flashing lights.
The voices around lowered.
To his surprise, his vision brightened.
He saw himself.
Lying on the road.
Helpless.
Dead.
I felt alive. Saw the death of humanity.
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