Blood curdling screams. Cut like knives through the silence of the streets. Lights on the overturned cars flickered in the dark night. Sirens and flashing lights of blue and red, disrupting the absence of light, sped into view. The police cars, followed by two ambulances, and a firetruck, halted on the horrific scene. As the firefighters used the jaws of life to pry open car doors, and the paramedics fought to save lives, two policemen frowned at the wreck.
“Another case of drunk driving.”
“It’s a shame.”
“I s’pose we’ll have to inform the parents.”
“They’ll be crushed.”
“This is the worst part of our job.”
One body zipped up in a bag; sent on it’s way. Four other’s strapped to gurneys, tattered and torn, hooked up to oxygen masks, narrowly escaping Death’s grip, and on their way to the nearest hospital.
The city workers cleared the streets of this tragedy. But like the ever present remnants of shattered glass on the asphalt, the story will be all over the news the following morning. The four teenagers have a very good chance of survival, but there was one unlucky casualty that didn’t make it. Call it collateral damage, call it whatever you want. Maybe it was their fault for getting into that car in the first place, or maybe, just maybe, they had a death wish after all.