Petra slammed her foot on the brakes. There had been something that just seemed to have dashed right across the road. She was not sure what that thing was, or whatever it could have been. But then she ended up losing control of the wheel from the slippery surface of the tarmacked road.

To her horror, she realized what was going on. Her brakes were malfunctioning! She continued to slide across the road, past whatever it was that had ended up causing her to lose control of her vehicle.

Her heart raced within her chest. She had forgotten to pay attention to the traffic signals, and speed limit signs. Here she was trying to drive at about a 120 kilometers per hour, thinking she would be able to manage coming to a stop whenever she needed to.

The gods must have been testing her driving abilities. She tried her brakes one more time.

They still failed her. She began to scream as her vehicle veered off the side of the road, and headed toward a Baobab tree.

She covered her face, and braced for impact. The front part of her car slammed into the thick bark of the Baobab tree, and to make things worse, the entire windscreen shattered into a zillion nano shards of glass.

After a short while, smoke started to billow from the car. Petra had been out of it from the moment of the impact, but the odor of the smoke that surrounded her made her feel queasy.

She felt as if she was going to collapse from the lack of oxygen. Her whole body was in a lot of pain, and to make things worse, she was stuck inside her car!

Luckily for her another car was not too far behind her, and a random stranger ran out of his car to her aid. He was not sure how to save her, and his feet just sprang to action.

Petra had seen a figure with wings approaching her. She began to freak out and thought to herself, "No...I am not ready to go with you, Azrael...please, give me some more time to live and celebrate Nowruz with my family."

The car burst into flames.

Petra screamed.

The flutter of wings in the distance made her calm down...for a bit.

A hand tapped her on her shoulder, "Are you alright, Miss?"

Petra smiled. There was a beautiful scent now in the air that was like a sweet smelling fragrance of her Habibi's.

The young gentleman smiled back. He stared at the lady, and felt his heart skip a beat. She was beautiful, and he was glad to have saved her from dying in an inferno.

Petra coughed, and then replied, "Yes, I am. Thank you for saving me...my dear guardian angel."

The guy chuckled. "My pleasure."

#AngelofDeath. (c)

1 Aprile, 2023.

https://youtu.be/sDEWZnPJGRU

The aux cord plays the song she's had on a loop in her mind for days, and she hums along, half-listening. The sound is starting to become familiar, the lyrics quickly jumping to mind

- she memorizes lyrics quickly, though she can never sing them on demand. How many times has she listened to this today, she wonders vaguely as she approaches the roundabout. The song is dull, now. She glances down, finger poised to skip, but not yet, first she has to make it around the curve to the exit, and then -

He and his friend are half-laughing as they drive, happily complaining about the assignment they'd been working on for the last three hours, but it's 9 PM now, time to relax. His friend slaps his arm in response to his last gripe, head thrown back. His friend laughs loudly, a barking laugh with a perfect three-three ratio of silence to sound, and he laughs along, his own amusement a run-on line, no pauses. He shakes off his distraction as his friend continues to laugh, the sound still filling the jeep as he approaches the roundabout -

Stop.

Rewind.

The rain on the warm summer pavement gleams with the lengthened strands of reflected lights. The roundabout is ahead, and she's driven it hundreds of times, it's just a few blocks away from her old house. She drove around it as a kid, so many times, and remembers seeing that one jeep they all saw occasionally, the one with the birds. There had been a parrot in the passenger seat, a blue macaw, sapphire blue, and small cages piled in the back seat, bright flashes of green, lovebirds and budgies. She had never got a good glimpse of the driver, a woman. She turns down the music, maybe she should skip the song? She had only ever looked for the birds. The light of the streetlights aren't as bright as the macaw in her memories, but still special in their own ways, glowing up like a second world. She wonders what the woman had looked like, as she pulls into the roundabout with a finger hovering over the skip button, not quite looking up ahead as a jeep pulls ahead -

His eyes hurt a bit, after staring at the screen of his laptop for so long, the transition to driving too abrupt - it feels like his eyes have to catch up, and they ache, not that he's focusing on it. As his friend laughs, he reaches up to adjust his glasses, rub at his eyes a bit - maybe he needs to update his prescription again, he thinks absently, even though he saw the doctor last year about his eyes. Do you see an optometrist twice a year, or is once a year ok? He reminds himself to ask mom, when he gets home. Meanwhile, he blinks several times fast as his friend nudges him with an arm, bringing up that last meme. He laughs along, it was a good one, clever. He tries not to think about his aching eyes as he glances both ways, not bothering to stop fully as he pulls into the roundabout, glancing left, at the fast-approaching car -

Stop.

Rewind.

The car is still cold, even though she spent a good five minutes waiting for it to warm up, but it does take a bit to warm up. It should be ok after another few minutes. The familiar song plays as she approaches the roundabout - the one where the bird lady used to drive. Maybe she should turn up the heat a bit. She wishes this car had nice heated seats, but it doesn't, and the intrusive cool that comes with the rain seems to drift though the sealed walls of the car, straight through her jacket to her skin. The front-facing vents which blow warm air towards the passengers aren't very efficient. She should have worn gloves, but the ones she has keep shedding their cheap suede covering, and the bits get stuck under her nails. She taps a cold finger on the wheel, absently humming to the song. She should skip it, she knows the lyrics mostly. If she was wearing gloves, she wouldn't be able to hit the skip on the warm screen of her phone, she thinks, hovering a finger over the skip. She pulls into the roundabout, and that's enough of the song, she hits skip with her cold finger just as a jeep pulls directly in front, and she gasps as her wide eyes meet his, just as the music changes, the headlights blinding on the side of his door as she tries to hit the brakes -

He laughs as his friend gestures dramatically about the assignment, wagging a finger in the exaggerated way their teacher always does. His eyes hurt a bit, and he fiddles with the stitching along the back of the steering wheel covering to distract himself, neat raised lines. He wonders if a machine did that as he gives up and surrenders to the need to rub at his eyes, listening to his friend recite that great meme. He lifts a shoulder, but the seatbelt rubs too much - he's always had sensitive skin, and it rubs, even through his shirt and jacket. He pulls it away, but it snaps back, and his friend snorts a laugh, seeing him do it, raising an eyebrow of false judgement. He reaches over to shove as his friend laughs, the guy isn't even wearing his seatbelt, he can't judge too hard, and he should be wearing it, but it's only a short drive. If a cop comes, he can get it on fast enough, not that he's driving badly, he's still got his learner's license, he's gotta be careful. He lets the seatbelt snap back into place - he's at the roundabout, and he pulls out, just as a black car rounds the bend - he feels the exact moment the hairs on his arms stand up as his eyes widen, meeting the eyes of the woman in the car as she drives straight towards him, and he tries to accelerate away, panic rising -

Stop.

The sound of metal colliding, the screech of tires on wet pavement, then horns, brakes, silence. The rain patters against the pavement, unbothered -

Stop.

Rewind.

The cars slam together, and three bursts of white slam out of the cars as airbags deploy, as the driver door of the silver jeep crunches inwards, as the windscreen of the black car shatters, the driver jolting forwards at the impact - their eyes meet before the metal collides, two terrified souls trapped in horror together before everything turns to chaos -

Stop.

Rewind.

She feels the impact rattle through her bones, and for an instant, she's floating, weightless. She can feel the moment something in her neck snaps when the cars hit, and she feels a flood of pain, so intense that she can't even scream, and the world goes black as the car jolts forwards. She doesn't feel it when her body slams back into her seat, as the airbag deploys. She doesn't feel the warm blood trailing down her coat, the glass shards embedded so deep they scrape bone in some places, she doesn't feel the way her leg is caught by a rugged piece of metal, pinned, as the car jerks to a halt, too caught in the other to move forwards as he foot slips off the pedals -

He doesn't know what happened. He can feel something on his face, and everything is cold - what happened? He tries to move, but his body isn't responding. Was he - what was he doing? He looks to his left, and sees a wall of metal - he doesn't have one of those at home. Does his friend? His friend was just here, sitting beside him. Where is he? He tries to move his neck, and gasps at the feeling, the jolt, a pain he didn't expect, but he can move it, and he does, looking to his right -

She lies there, motionless, seeing nothing as she stares forwards, blood leaking from her wounds, her neck twisted harshly. Her eyes are blue, like the feathers of a macaw. There is nothing behind the blue of her eyes.

He tries to scream, but his throat won't move, and all he does is make a terrible choked sound as he sees. His friend is half-though the windshield - he wasn't wearing a seatbelt, they had been driving - why hadn't he been wearing a seatbelt? His friend isn't moving. He tries to move his arm, and it's shaking, and it's cold - he can't see what's on his hand. His glasses are gone. Where are - not important, he tells himself, and his arm is uselessly patting the back of his friend's thigh, the only thing he can reach, but he isn't moving, and he can't call out - out! He has to get out, then he can help, get to his friend. He tries to move, and he can't - Why won't his legs move? Why is - is everything blurry? Course it is, he doesn't have his glasses. The thought, inane as it is, makes him giggle, the sound choked, hysterical. He needs to get out, then he can get his glasses, he must be in shock. His legs aren't moving. He squints, trying to see his legs. There's so much everything in the way, metal, a deflating airbag, covering his legs. His legs - they must just be buried, he thinks, under all this wet metal. He whimpers a bit when he sees how much is in the way, tries to see, he can't see it well without his glasses. Everything is definitely blurry. He doesn't want to be here. He - he wants to be home, he thinks, and his mind latches onto the thought.

It's - it's really cold here. He tries to move up, out, but he can't feel his legs, his legs are buried, and his hands are cold and wet, covered in something? He needs to see, but he can't see anything, everything's too blurry. He's tired. He can - maybe he should rest, before he tries to move. It's getting warmer - he can take a break, then get out. Then he can...

His head slumps forwards into the wet airbag before he can finish his thought.

Stop. But there's no stopping this.

The shouts of others from outside as they try to help, but how? They shout back and forth, but no one moves. No one wants to make it worse. Soft exclamations, curses, prayers. Someone's calling 911.

The boy doesn't feel the moment his brain stutters to a stop, his body spasming once as it tries to move the blood which keeps draining from the mess of metal that tore through his legs, leaving exposed veins, nothing stopping the blood from flowing out, away. He doesn't wake.

On the hood of the jeep, the left eye of his friend is wide. A shard of glass has ruined the right eye, which oozes blood and rain. The cause of his death is unrelated to the glass.

The girl's eyes, macaw blue, reflect the artificial flashing blue and red of the ambulance's lights.

Stop.

Fast Forwards.

Fatal crash, the article reads. Three casualties.

I had never desired to die save for one autumn night where I was caught in death’s headlights, one in which I miraculously survived. The sensations I felt from that crash occasionally leak from the recesses of my mind even now, every so often embracing me, swelling up my thirst for non-existence like an occasional spark in the blackest depths.

I still remember that pinewood forest and the narrow dirt road that ran through it, and me, its sole navigator, gliding through its darkness. I had just come back from a college party - I’ll be the first to admit that I may have had a few drinks, but certainly not enough to incapacitate me entirely - and I figured my best bet would be to drive myself home, even taking the precaution of letting in the cold autumn air by opening the sunroof; a poor attempt at sobering up.

The road was desolate barring the occasional car that drove past; on the whole the drive was sterile and calm, eerily so, akin to how the wind quiets before some great, imminent disaster. Its sharp turns and winding paths were like that of a snake trudging along tall grass, nauseating in my tipsy state.

To this day I haven’t been able to shake the memory of his shadowy figure emerging from the woods, stumbling in a drunken stupor, and me turning the corner, not yet aware of what was about to happen. It’s funny how the brain torments us; my recollection of that night is so vague, a substanceless mass of idle chatter and binge drinking - but that face, that twisted expression of abject horror somehow lives on as the picture ingrained within my psyche. To this day I believe that the most painful thing wasn’t the physical scars created by the fire, but those select memories which continue to make my life a burning hell.

I awoke in a daze, almost as though I were in another world, my car slammed against the side of a tree and that fire growing at a rapid rate. It began to rain, slowly, plaintively, desperately trying to cool this new world in which I found myself, but to no avail.

Looking out the passenger window I saw his arm sticking out from under the car and the crimson mist running from under the tires. Within that hellfire it was as though a part of me died; staring into his eyes gazing somewhere far away, the life in them snuffed out like thin candlelight - as though the remaining embers of his soul metamorphosed and fueled the blazing inferno in which I now sat.

The stars above burned bright and I felt my body temperature rising, the flame devouring my clothes like termites on dry oak. As my flesh peeled away and my body writhed I thought that maybe this was the final stage in every creature's evolution; much like how the car transformed into something malformed and unrecognisable I too would transcend flesh and become something different, like a star born from a cloud of dust. As the smoke from the car rose and enveloped me like a thick fog, I looked forward to this next stage - to become a star in the sky, sparks in the wind, ashes in the inferno.

our white Corvette

my prized possession

she's bleeding all over it I can't

stop it!

her arm is jutting out of place

I can see the bone

I touch it and wince

I can't fix it

she's screaming I can't

stop it!

she looks at my head bloodied

by the steering wheel.

her fingers jammed into her hand

her teeth still in the dash

her eyes dart to her left leg

severed

2 feet away from her

she goes to touch where her leg should be

another scream

shattered glass in her exposed skull

she screams

I can't stop it

but it's okay

she'll go to heaven pretty anyways

My Personal Ordeal (June 1, 1970/7:45 a.m.)

I had just started my first job since graduating high school and finally turning

18. My father bought me a car so I could go to and from work - a 1964 Rambler.

This car had no carpet, no radio, no electronic equipment - it was just me and the

car and the open road!

I had started working for State Farm Insurance on August 31 and felt I made

a good impression. However, the second day of my new job, June 1, would

pan out to become quite different from how that day began.

I was heading into the office, ready to work, and was on Cleveland Avenue,

which crosses Main Street in East Point, Georgia. The train runs usually from

about 7:00 to 8:00 so it was not uncommon for me to have to stop, wait for

the train, then go to the office less than 5 minutes away.

I sat there, red light, and heard, and saw nothing. The arms for the cross did not

lower. There were no bells or whistles or angels waving at me to stop and think

for one second. Nope! I saw nothing, heard nothing, and proceeded to turn

right on to the railroad tracks.

That's when it happened. For whatever reason, the car stalled at that exact moment.

I heard this sound coming from underneath the carriage of the car. The car was

shaking. I was shaking.

I turned to my left and was immediately greeted by a massive engine, running a speed

of about 15 mph for the crosswalk, and my Rambler and the nose of that train

became instantly acquainted.

Right into the driver's door, the train hit, and I could hear the sound of the metal

crunching and curling around me, placing me in a metal cocoon. The car then

began to curl on to the right side as the train continued to push my car down the

tracks. They said we were pushed 170 yards. I don't recall how far, but I screamed

until the train and car stopped.

Once stopped, the car was shaped like a "U" on its right side. I looked up to the

cab of the train. My eyes locked with the engineer's eyes. I will never forget the

look in his eyes. I was 18 then, and I'll be 72 soon. I'll never forget that man's

eyes.

The car door opened up on to the tracks and I was pulled out of the car. The gas

pedal was stuck in its position as was the clutch where I had tried to get it started

and moved. They took me to the hospital from the scene.

I had no broken bones. I had no scratches. I had one really big bruise from my

left hip down to my left ankle - but other than that, I had been untouched. My

car took the majority of the impact. I complained about not getting a new car.

The old car had the frame still built in it - and that is what saved my life. I'm

grateful I had that old car.

The insurance company came to me about the accident. I knew this was coming,

I worked with State Farm! When the man got there, I was told that the settlement

could be as little as 1,000,000. I was 18 and in the state of Georgia. I would not

have kept any of the money. Had I known at the time about the man driving

the train who hit me - I would have taken the money and given it to him because

the day after he hit me? That man quit his job. I didn't know any better, so instead,

I refused the money.

Yep folks, I honestly did. I was disowned a short time later for doing that deed. It's

ok. My car saved my life and I'm alive today because of divine intervention? The car?

The time of day? The driver? Or a combination of them all?

I survived a direct impact of a moving train with my car on the driver's side on

morning in Georgia in 1970. I'm not a millionaire, but i've had a very full

life. I knew I would have this great life - I couldn't let a train stop me , now

could I?

I feel like paint that was left out for too long. A splash of dark red. The same color currently spreading across my sister's chest.

Southfield Freeway, Michigan.

May 3, 2014.

4:39 pm.

The hood of the car crumples like tin foil.

Glass shards fly everywhere.

I’m screaming and Kay’s screaming and I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe. Something punches me in the face so hard I hear my nose break.

The car veers off the road and smashes into the railing. The world is ripped apart like wet paper, but it sounds like metal on metal. Pain spreads through my body, stabbing and twisting. There's a high-pitched ringing in my ears and my hands are covered in blood.

The car finally comes to a halt, and I am but a mass of blood and flayed skin. Where is my sister?

I fumble for the door handle, grappling with the airbag. The ringing in my ears is slowly fading and I hear screams coming from outside. Someone says “Is she alive?” They think I’m dead, but I’m not dead, I’m fine. I need to find Kay.

My shaking hands open the door and I fall out of the car. I get to my feet and see a cluster of people gathered around something in the street. Multiple cars are pulled over, blocking the intersection and creating a huge line of backup traffic.

A woman grips my shoulders and says something like are you okay? I nod and stumble toward the group. I shouldn't be able to move, but somehow I make my way to the front of the car.

“Kay!” I yell. "Where's Kay?" My voice makes some people look up. Many of them are crying. I shove my way to the front. Finally, I see what everyone’s looking at.

Kay is sprawled facedown in the middle of the street. Her dark brown hair fans around her head, and her purple shirt has fresh blood on it.

Her blood.

I fall to my knees. The world is black and empty and I can't see or hear or breathe or feel anything. I don't think I will ever feel anything ever again.

If I did, I don't think I'd be able to stand it.

The SUV is travelling down a path it has gone many a times. The driver had just got groceries and knew this route would get them home in about 10 minutes. The vehicle comes to a stop at a stoplight. It will be the first one to go when the light changes, but it will proceed cautiously. While this light does not have a left hand turn signal, and this vehicle will be going straight anyways, cars from the opposite direction have a bad habit of turning right in front of them as soon as the light changes. And so, caution will be used. The light changes and the vehicle start to creep forward.

All of a sudden a loud horn blares from the left. The driver has no time to look to see what it is but instinctively puts their foot on the brake. CRASH. The vehicle is hit and does a 180. It coasts slowly towards a tree on the side of the road. The driver hits the brake to stop but there is no response. They pull the emergency brake, and the vehicle mercifully halts.

Thanks to the air bags and seat belt all the driver ends up suffering is a soar neck. They stumble out of the car and are told immediately by a spectator to take a seat while they call the police. Reluctantly the driver does. From the ground they can see the other car a good 50 yards down the road, proceed by a trail of random car bits. They see no sign of the other driver. They get up and make a call to let their loved one know they are okay and may need a ride. There is now a chance to see the damage done to their ow vehicle. The frame in front of the driver’s side wheel is smashed in, but other than this the vehicle is fine condition.

By now the police have arrived on the scene. They talk to the witness and then to the driver. They ask what happened and gather their facts. It is quickly determined that the other driver ran a red light. The police ask the driver if they want to go to the hospital, but the driver refuses. Their loved one had arrived and there was ice cream melting in the trunk. More than anything they just want to home.

Late and alone,

I'm driving down the drenched roads, reckless.

skiing through shallow streams over the saturated pavement,

In my wake water is intertwining like veins across the cracked cement.

Sheets of precipitation pelt my windshield as solids

street lights, illuminating the riot, appear as shimmering petite stars,

blurred as though I'm submerged as I go.

pool to a ripple, rain dances and cavorts thick yet fluid anterior, upon my window.

Slicing a systematic blade corrupts the flow

throwing off the spontaneous steps, and me in doing so.

A stop, a tug in my stomach tickles my senses as my concentration wanes.

turn into a slanted view, a curve with lane maintained.

I view a glimpse of detail now.

a glance along my path

a large sign advertising another clone neighborhood

in distinguished like the rest.

I progress.

smooth curves are unraveling like an elementary maze

enticing riders enthusiasm,

teasing danger, a challenging stranger

a mocking grin terrain.

,

my thoughts ripen, untamed.

teasing the trigger

a mounting pressure so small

succumbing to antagonism

to the baiting I fall.

an inch for this ruler

brazen increase in pace

I stop caring for limits,

I start a one-sided race.

speed splatters the rain in new flashing patterns

inexplicable views,

portraying licentiousness scattering.

the surge of adrenaline

a rush in my head

lightened fancies my whim

I've no time to dread.

increased to exceed

what harm or what foul

an innocent fun

excess petty thrill

and I recall only slightly

The loss in my hands

the drop of control

the time pausing realization

unable to slow.

that natural high, and what went wrong

a bridge claimed the prize

and as I shot down

Echoed a noise, a crashing scream

and booming skirt

that destructive sound

of the last thing I heard

impacts symphony, concussions rebuttal

a scream of anguished

cacophony rising in level

and I sunk to the bottom

to bunk with the devil.