In the End

By Crystal Snoddon

Darkness silhouetted raindrops fell heedlessly in the headlamps of the crumpled car.

Pulling alongside the old jalopy wedged against the tree, I saw him through shattered glass—alone, slumped forward, his head slick, misshapen, pulsating in my rig’s orange strobe-light.

Scrambling through his unhinged passenger door, I reached forward with shaking gloved hands. My exposed wrist felt his weak breath, his cold skin.

Each time every word is crucial; who knows which seeps in, congealing into meaning within blood-sodden crevices?

“Sir, my name is Guy. I’m not sure how, but an accident’s happened. Sir—stay with me. Please…just hang on.”