Tracy Mayne
Joined February 2021
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Little Black Book
As he pulled his cruiser over, he thought, “This is gonna be bad.” He took a deep breath, exhaled, and got out. The front of the car was accordioned against the tree. A head, half crushed, stuck through the windshield. The blood was a slow drip onto the shattered safety glass. No spurting, the man was dead. It seeped through the craquelured shards and glinted ruby in the headlights, strangely beautiful.
By Tracy Mayne3 years ago in Futurism