A Work of Fiction.

All things pass a way. maybe that’s an uncommon observation to make on a bright sunny day like this one; it’s one I couldn’t help but make as the the wreck in front of me warped and compressed into a tangle of metal that could no longer be made out for it’s individual parts. It was two hulking SUVs that had collided and collapsed into that inconceivable mess. I had just barely avoided becoming a part of that tragedy. I would later find out that each carried a passenger per vehicle and neither had survived. I’m cynical and I don’t know which was the bigger waste: the loss or life or the excess those lives were bathed in. Why do I think like that? The answer was obvious. It should always be obvious. Life is precious and they were strangers. They could have lived decent, good lives. I guess it is part of my nature to think like that. A product of the life I had lived. I baked and watched the aftermath as the heat bounced off the surrounding cars that had built up behind the wreck. An hour and no trace was left of what had been a mass of metal and death blocking both lanes of that narrow rode and in no time I was home, how strange.

~ by jonathanmilling on December 2, 2008.