The motorcyclist slammed into the broad side of a car as it cut out in front of him at the awkward intersection north of town. Man and machine toppled end over end until they both came to a halt — the man perfectly symmetrical down the centerline and the twisted mass of metal in the ditch.
The motorcycle exploded. Everything in a twenty-foot radius caught fire — the ditch, the brush, the embankment that led to the hillside and a thick density of trees. The man lay motionless, facedown, a short distance away. A gust in the right direction could push the fire his way.
Before long, dozens of cars lined the highway, and more than half of them had pulled off to the side of the road.
People ran toward the scene without hesitation: a pair of contractors covered in drywall dust, a local teacher by the name of Ms. Linn, a man in a suit, the owner of an automotive store, and half a dozen medical professionals — by the grace of some higher power.
Two women in high heels darted from the Tesla they’d carpooled in, both holding fire extinguishers. When they arrived near the blaze, they attacked it immediately, fighting the unwieldy flames back and back.
A man in scuffed-up jeans and a flannel halted the traffic on both sides and yelled at the lone idiot who tried to drive through the scene.
“What’s the matter with you?” the man yelled at the driver as the car scraped over something it shouldn’t have. The piece rattled underneath until it dislodged.
An emergency room doctor took the lead with the half-broken man, calling the shots until the paramedics arrived.
When it was all said and done, the people continued on their way — their destinations seemingly less important. The two women who fought back the flames were treated on the scene for minor burns and blisters around their ankles and on their shins.
They’d wear those marks for a few weeks, most days sharing glasses of wine after work as they talked about what compelled them to do it — what possessed them to jump into action the way they did.
Was it human instinct? Divine intervention? Realizing one of their husbands had purchased two fire extinguishers from the hardware store weeks ago and kept forgetting to bring them inside?
When they learned the motorcyclist died from his injuries, they cried with one another in the back corner of the wine bar.
“Maybe we needed to be there for some reason. To see that — and do what we did.”
“What do you mean?”
But neither of them could come up with a definitive answer. The question would forever remain in that space, trapped like a lost soul.
They choked back tears — all for a man they never knew.
Thank you so much for reading my story. Please feel free to share if you enjoyed it, or let me know in the comments below. One of my favorite parts of sending out Along the Hudson is having the chance to hear from those who read my work.
Writing prompt: If you are hoping to get some words on the page today, write about an accident you were either a part of or witnessed. (It doesn’t have to be about an automobile.) Anything that comes to mind fits the bill.
Or, fictionalize the account by replacing your role in the accident with a created character. How does the character react and respond to the events?
Feel free to share below, or just use the prompt to kick-start some writing!
Have a great week, everyone.
I like how the women are unsure of why it all happened the way it did. So many things that happen in life seem to defy reason—far more than in fiction. Many times authors seem compelled to provide meaning, a moral, or clear causality in their stories. (Especially if the hero’s journey is involved.) To me anyway, this can be unrealistic. One of my favorite quotes on this topic is from Phillip Stevick: “Life does not contain plot.”
Here’s to the helpers!