WJ Entry #008

October 30, 2019

It's bewitching. That rounded, freckled orb in the sky that we call the moon. Tonight, it hangs low in the abyssal sky, glowing an ominous, stained orange. She drives home late enough to appreciate its haunting beauty.

It's about 20:12 before she approaches a sturdy, cemented bridge. It's exactly 20:13 when everything changes. 

Her eyes leave the glowing orb seconds too late for her to react to the sudden bridge slope ahead of her. From a distance, her car is akin to a speedy fly. It smacks into the foot of the bridge with a resounding crack. The bridge, however, barely vibrates.

It's bad. It's really bad. The last thing she remembers is the orange glow of the moon, high pitched screaming and painful silence. The smoke and heat is the first thing to wake her. She hears the hissing of her beaten car, the ignorant hum of fellow cars buzzing past her and a prevailing high pitched tone which she can't seem to shake. It's painful to move. It's painful to breathe. It's painful to open her one, unhindered eye. Her other eye is sealed shut by a fragment of her previously whole windscreen. The car, a dutiful Honda Jazz, is smashed beyond recognition. The snout of the car has been pressed into itself like a cheap, stepped-on can. There's the added smell of gasoline she can pick up and somewhere in her subconscious, she knows that's dangerous so she attempts to weakly lift her arms and push the scattered pieces of her front headlight away from her chest. She's stuck in her car, the metal has almost melded itself around her, trapping her in a sick version of quicksand. Her chest starts to convulse as soft sobs escape her bloody lips. There's nothing she can do, there's nobody she can call and the only people who can help, continue to drive past her, doing what they should. They keep their eyes on the road.

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The air shifts and streaking tears escape her eyes. She almost tastes the fire before it sparks. 

The moon isn't the only glowing, orange mass that night.