[pre] “Sweet Jesus!” The old man’s voice echoed slightly, the kind of echo that lingers on concrete walls. A car had just struck a small child, who was now sprawled out on the asphalt as if he were already on the autopsy table. The child’s mother bent over him, crying and calling out to the night. “My god, is he okay? SOMEONE GET AN AMBULANCE!” The old man rushed out, then back into his shop in a confused panic while the driver of the car tried to comfort the woman, but to no avail. She just stared at him with rubbed-red eyes, as she mouthed My baby repeatedly like a mantra to the God she was beginning to doubt.. The old man now emerged from his shop wielding a cell phone he barely understood. “Now how do you work this dang contrap—There it is. Operator?”
“Poor thing. Didn’t even see it comin’.”
“It’s a shame, is what it is. It’s a damn shame. Wha—What do you… I mean, what do you think it’s like?” This wasn’t the first time that John seemed inquisitive about death. In fact, he was obsessed with it.
“Sigh. Well, I—Gosh. I really just… I don’t know what to tell you. I guess, well, I mean, I guess it would just be like… You’re there, and then, all of a sudden… then you’re not. Y’know?”
“I guess. Do y—Do you think there’s anything after?”
“I really couldn’t tell you. I guess, we’ll just have to find out when it happens. I—Ha—I hope I don’t find out any time soon, y’know what I’m sayin’?”
“Yeah,” John tried the best he could to sound amused, but it still didn’t sound genuine, “I guess I do.”
“Well, look, I’m gonna get outta here. You wanna, like, go grab a coffee or something?”
“Nah. I’ll stay here. I got some paperwork to fill out.”
“Alright, well, be careful drivin’ home, y’know, ya got all kinds a maniacs out there this time a night. See ya later.”
“Yeah, you too.” There was no paperwork. John just stared at the small child on the slab. “Where are you? Where are you now?” Then, the child—no, it couldn’t be—but, it was: The child began to sit up on the table. He looked John square in the eye and said, “Nowhere. Nowhere at all.”
RRrrrrrriiiinngg! John looked at the phone, looked back at the child, who still lay on the table, the sheet perfectly undisturbed. “Hello? Yeah. No, I’m leaving right now. Y—Okay. Alright honey. See you in a b—" He slowly pulled the phone away from his face, closed it. The drive home was long and uneventful, at least in reality. At every intersection, a car came towards John, just to disappear at the moment it would have hit him. At every green light, a pedestrian walked in front of him, only to vanish as John hit the brake. Every house, every car, every shop was being broken into by identical men holding rifles. Yet, there were no alarms, no broken glass, no screams of death. Just the sound of tires rolling on asphalt and wind blowing across the car. When he arrived home, he ventured tepidly into the foyer, and called out, “Hello?” His wife walked down the stairs, clad in a robe, and shushed him, warning him he’d wake the kids. “Sorry, I’ve jus—I’ve just been really jumpy lately. It was a, uh—a tough day at work. Sorry.”[/pre]
