By Katie Arminie

Chapter 1 : The Blackness of Tar

Just out of view in the pine forest, she stands, observing the scene in front of her, eyes flicking to and fro. The moon is out of sight, leaving the world to the blackness of tar,  pinholes of stars freckle the mimisca. Red and blue lights flash across the snow-covered hills almost like a festive celebration, instead of this morbid event. The motley mix of officers and EMTs work as their urgency slowly fades to resolve, death has made its confession. Smells of metal, smoke, and gas fills the crisp nightair, polluting the freshness of the evergreens, paying homage to the tragedy. Two sedans are twisted piles of wreckage: one clipped the other, spinning it out of control into a tree. The latter flipped on its side after the resounding force of the crash sent it over the semi steep embankment. The alcohol ridden proponent of this disaster would of had  a serious, yet survivalable, head injury. Her companion, not as lucky, was not wearing a seatbelt, while passed out in the backseat as it were and broke his neck while bouncing across the maniacal moving vehicle. The twentysomethings were so fresh to life, brand new and unwrinkled. Meanwhile, in opposition, across the street, the middle aged victims were crushed from the combination of the tree wreck and the trunk sans branches, slicing through the windshield, ending their contented retirement. 

Nothing is guaranteed in this life or the next. The others have left, unphased, not interested in what is normal for them, but still heartbreaking in its realness for her. They leave without a comment, moving with speed and silence through the frozen landscape. She knows they are annoyed with her, but she is unable to move with the strangeness of this reality. Lifeless, broken bodies are being moved onto stretchers now that the jars of life have broken through and immediate vitals have been taken. It is a sober scene, one of caution… if things had been different, the usual ways of being.

Despite the rest of her body being warm, her blood soaked face is burning from the cold, keeping her alert. These days she feels more animal than human, donning a fur coat feels natural and right. The thick blood on her jacket matts the fur, but the synthetic lining stops the seepage, saving her body from the frigid weather. Yes, everything is calculated down to her workman’s gloves and snow boots. Her brain buzzes from the confusion of it all. How is this real? The familiar question asked a lot nowadays… In the distance, an owl hoots as if it feels as alone as she does in this moment. She is changing along with everything she has ever known. Unable to stop the mourning of the old life, she watches from the shadows.