Wednesday, 11 April 2012

Terror Scribes Teaser 4: Richard Farren Barber

The fat man stepped off the kerb belly first. If I hadn’t killed him I suppose he’d still be standing there, dead eyes staring into the distance.

The impact threw the man’s body up onto the bonnet of my car and rolled him across the windscreen. For a moment my vision filled with his faded red T-Shirt pressed up against the glass and then the screen shattered into a thousand fragments. I stood on the brakes and as the car stopped the fat man rolled off. As he fell to the ground I heard his head crack against the kerb.

It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve hit someone, you still can’t fully prepare yourself for the shock—the heavy thud that rattles through the body of the car. You feel it in your stomach first; like someone punching you hard in the guts; and then it rises up your throat to the back of your mouth.
The road was empty. I walked around to the front of the car. He didn’t look too bad; lying in a small bundle at the side of the road. There was a pool of blood blossoming at the back of his head, crimson against the grey pavement. Like a halo. I crouched down beside him.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be long now,” I tried to reassure him.

He opened his mouth to say something but all that came out was a wheezing breath.

“Don’t try to talk,” I told him. I watched the life slip from his eyes. His body hitched with the effort of one last, tremendous breath and once that had finished rattling through his body I knew he was gone.
I waited for the Angels to come.


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