Lost but he couldn't stop hearing those footsteps, in his mind. They kept going on and on. Jack could hear his footsteps echoing.
Jack sat there engulfed in smoke – hoping the ash-filled clouds would somehow shield him from the pain.
Her body flew through the air, so unnaturally, like a bird caught in a tornado. The blood cascading down her forehead like a waterfall of emotion.
Her delicate face was transformed into a mask – a crimson mask of blood and agony. The smell of burnt rubber and panic in the air. It was electric. Why did she have to take such a chance? Perhaps she wasn’t thinking straight as she was caught in the moment, having fun with her friends on a Saturday night.
The driver was obviously in shock as he fumbled to get out of his freshly damaged car.
Jack saw the street light turn from orange to red. He saw her try to get across – but she didn’t quite make it.
Two seconds, two seconds earlier and she wouldn’t have been hit. The driver didn’t even see her on that bleak winter eve.
He wish he knew her name – he wish he knew her story – he wish he had more courage.
That eve, Jack kept walking – walking out of fear. As the fear subsided, something worse emerged within him – guilt. Jack felt like he had imprisoned himself behind stone bars of shame and could never get out. Jack began to feel heavier, as he realized he was going to carry that shame with him for the rest of his life.
The dye had been cast, the moment had happened. Life in nothing more than a series of moments. And in that fearful moment he chose his path and kept walking.
As he drew in another smoky breath, he cried. Sometimes there’s not enough smoke in the world to shield you from yourself – from your thoughts – from your pain.