She was standing, staring at a busy city street. Her eyes roved around the area, searching, then they flicked to her watch. She was late, but that didn't concern her in the slightest. She was content to procrastinate. The young woman was thinking - thinking about street corners. She didn't really know why - it wasn't something that she thought about very often, nor was it a particularly interesting thought topic, it was just what she was thinking about.
Street corners seem to have negative connotations, she mused. Why? Was it Americanised stereotype - the references to drug deals and hookers? It must be - I can't think of any other way that street corners could be sinister. They are where the lights are put, where the traffic is directed from, where the green man tells you when its safe to walk. If anything street corners should be held in a positive light...
The city's surroundings swirled around in bustle of noise. Hissing - rubber on bitumen and stopping buses. Yells - street vendors and angry motorists. Growls - idling engines and exhausting fans. Lights changed from green to red, and the growling engine noise doubled - only to be relieved by the change from red to green - and the opposite line of traffic raced off in a cough of greenhouse gas.
The young lady still stood, now staring intently at the corner of the intersection where a crowd of teens had stopped, perhaps waiting for the anonymous green man. A small joking push was all it took.
The streets squealed and ground to a halt.
Screams.
Panicked whispers.
Car doors slam.
Racing footfalls on concrete.
Raised voices from commanding onlookers.
Distant piercing whirl of rushing sirens.
The young woman stood stiff, neck craining, shock flowing through fear laden veins, rushing in time with her frantic heart.
The teens stood pale on the opposite corner, comforting each other, sobbing painfully - framed by a bloodied bus, and hysterical communters.
Tense silence took hold of the rigid scene - all eyes focussed on the paramedics trying desperately to revive the limp teen.
The lady glanced at her watch. She took a final glance at the tragic street corner, wrenched her eyes from the dramatic final act of the boys life.
Her heels clicked away briskly from the street corner - punctuating the return of the ceaseless city noise.
The city's surroundings swirled around in bustle of noise. Hissing - rubber on bitumen and stopping buses. Yells - street vendors and angry motorists. Growls - idling engines and exhausting fans. Lights changed from green to red, and the growling engine noise doubled - only to be relieved by the change from red to green - and the opposite line of traffic raced off in a cough of greenhouse gas.
The young lady still stood, now staring intently at the corner of the intersection where a crowd of teens had stopped, perhaps waiting for the anonymous green man. A small joking push was all it took.
The streets squealed and ground to a halt.
Screams.
Panicked whispers.
Car doors slam.
Racing footfalls on concrete.
Raised voices from commanding onlookers.
Distant piercing whirl of rushing sirens.
The young woman stood stiff, neck craining, shock flowing through fear laden veins, rushing in time with her frantic heart.
The teens stood pale on the opposite corner, comforting each other, sobbing painfully - framed by a bloodied bus, and hysterical communters.
Tense silence took hold of the rigid scene - all eyes focussed on the paramedics trying desperately to revive the limp teen.
***
The lady glanced at her watch. She took a final glance at the tragic street corner, wrenched her eyes from the dramatic final act of the boys life.
Her heels clicked away briskly from the street corner - punctuating the return of the ceaseless city noise.
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1 comment:
Communters are my favourite type of hysterics.
Don't drink and shove! Television teaches us that cars hit people, more so when they are intoxicated.
The alternative is to let natural selection take its course. Darwin lives on - in bus-form.
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