home authors guest shorts graphical shorts
The jeep ground down the guard rail, shreiking in unison with Maria. That sounds just like an old subway car when two wheels harmonize, thought Anselmo. Then he thought, fuckin’ Larry, we better not die. Larry screamed, “You cunt! You cunt!” Then as the jeep rolled, he warbled “oh god” in a crying voice. That sounds like such terrified, resigned mourning, thought Amselmo. If everyone just kept stoic this whole thing would go better. If I die because these assholes made me tense-up--the last thing I want to do is clench before impact.
Maria was face down with a broken neck. Her head was tucked under her breasts and her arms were out at her sides. There was a long red smear where her face had rubbed along the asphalt. Anselmo thought, she looks like a chinese diver. Even in death you can tell she’s asian from that gorgeous black hair. I never thought ethnicity mattered, but now that she’s dead, she’s somehow connected to back to China.
Larry crawled toward him, full of glass and groaning. His arm was dangling and bone was sticking through his cheek. To Anselmo he looked like one of those Brazilian prospectors covered in mineral-flecked red clay. Larry’s gonna die too, thought Anselmo. Larry spoke through his teeth, “It’s behind my eyes, fuck.”
Then he went back to groaning.
Anselmo was angry at the firefighter taking his pulse. “Him, him,” Anselmo said, pointing to Larry. The firefighter grimaced and went over to Larry. Anselmo smelled shit, gas, and metal. Just like the airport, he thought. “No, he’s lost too much blood,” Anselmo heard someone say. He looked toward the voice and saw a hand pointing back at him. "What the fuck," muttered Anselmo, "I didn’t even tense-up."
Date Written: March 26, 2005
Average Vote: 3