The Spill
A story in 420
Shoes, wallets and helmets littered the road and two people lay on the dirty summer asphalt, one crying and writhing in broken pain, the other showing no movement except for the blood spilling out of his ears, his nose and his mouth, an unstoppable rhythmic sort of spilling directed by the ever-slowing pulse; a pulse that should have been feeding that very blood into a system of working organs but was now pushing the redness of life out of that 16 year-old body, soaking his clothes, staining the street.
Patricia DeWit
ZZDeWit Photos
O Patricia….did you see this…I see it now…the grief.
Patty
Yes, 22 years ago and still the image is clear.
Wow, that’s a crazy scene! One I hope I never witness.
…because if you do you never forget it.