An hour after midnight, the other night
It wasn’t the first dead body I saw nor was it my first time to be around a dying person. It was certainly the first time I saw a corpse, who, a few seconds before, was a living breathing human being.
I suppose it would have been better for me if I witnessed it in the line of duty. At least there would have been a narrative, a context. But it was a freak accident in the early dawn. A freak accident may be a kinder, less brutal way of dying, compared to getting killed in the hands of a criminal, but it is just as senseless.
I think he did not see the large shallow hole in the pavement. He lost control of his motorcycle and collided into an island, sending his body flying and slamming to the hard ground. His body was on a weird angle and one of the security guards in the nearby store tried to lift him. But he was too heavy so the security guard laid him down on the pavement. He and his companion walked around the body, unsure of what to do. They spoke to their radios. The old men on the bus were shaking their heads, saying that he was dead over and over again. Their voices were light, as if they’re talking about sport scores, but they were as unnerved by the spectacle of death and the gleaming pool of blood as I was. I had no idea that head wounds could result to so much blood. As the bus drove away, I thought, in a few minutes, somebody would be roused from sleep by a distressing call. And I also thought, I doubt this would be picked up by the news later. He would be just another scrawl in the blotter.