Crushed Nutmeg

The rain ran across the ice. It applied ample lubrication while the warmth of the stagnant air continued to deteriorate the ice and snow. It was nearing half-past six. She walked peaceably, hands thrust into the front pockets of her overcoat. The smell of spring rain was welcomed into her eagerly flaring lungs and the taste, which swathed her taste buds, was delicious. Distant warm light began to swell behind a flat blanket of cloud, faintly indicating the lengthening of the days. The hope of spring was beginning its gentle asphyxiation of winter.

The catwalk was coated in ice and water, so she took special precaution by trudging through the water-weighted snow on the right side of the pathway. Contemplatively, she made her way towards the street corner. Home was near. Idle thoughts carried her tediously onward. The damp air and plump drops fell to coil a couple pieces of hair by her ear and forehead but she paid no heed. Suddenly she hit a particularly icy patch. Her shoes dramatically slid from under her and she fell hard to the ground. Her hand instinctively flung out for support but the hard asphalt gnashed and stung. Bitter water, dark and damp, clung to her left profile.

Her body seized. She began the futile task of struggling to her feet. Two streams of light garishly blared out, distorted by the subtly falling rain. The bumper cracked against her forehead, throwing her backward. Her head struck the road. There had been a mere second of concentrated and agonizing pain before she lost consciousness. Contorted, maimed, her body lay. In the ghastly glow cast by the streetlights, blood leaking from her mangled body appeared black. Like snakes it slunk through the water. The driver was drunk and the passengers, partially stoned. They were terror-stricken and loitered swearing and vomiting for the first few minutes before a neighbor had the sense to come outside from the clamor and call an ambulance.

They announced her dead on arrival. While the sky began to blush dusty-rose behind a mask of slate gray and the rain maintained it's romantic continuum, a black body bag was drawn about the girl. Haunting silence ensnared the street. A young girl cackled at her brother who slipped on the sidewalk. People stood, pallid-faced and grim in housecoats on their porches, feeling the adrenaline mix with the vomit and blood in the water. No legible expression was fixed on her face. Softly closed eyes, straight-set slightly parted lips... the first spring rain of the year, oh, she loved the rain so much. Whether in heaven or hell, she arrived home a little swifter than she had anticipated.

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Music of the moment: Butterflies and Hurricanes by Muse