A Series of Death Pt. 2
Mors Impactae
Ramona’s empty body rests peacefully on the pavement beneath her; the warm asphalt taking her beating heart and leaving tingly red kisses across her arms and face. Crystal glass has just finished the trek into the depths of Ramona’s soul; now acting as windows into the empty husk that rests in the world. Through the millions of little things embedding themselves in her body, the deepest of the crystals reveals a spark of life deep down in the core of her being.
Ramona’s body begins to shake up and down for a short moment; an unseen force pulls her across the asphalt for a few feet, wiping away the burning kisses atop her skin. Fifteen feet down the road, a roar of metal erupts. A 2004 Grand Caravan is rapidly sliding across the street, collecting various bits of car and rubber tire that line its path towards Ramona. Sliding transitions into tumbling and, as if it knew Ramona was in it’s path, the car launches into the air with a dramatic twist and flip.
Five feet above Ramona, and completely upside down, the bitter chill of wind seeps itself through the shattered holes in its skeleton. Instantly, the lights inside the Caravan flicker on; headlight, dashboard, the systems booting up. Beneath the reignited engine, Ramona’s brain begins to light up; a faint electrical signal, a growing current, a beating heart.
The Caravan continues to fly above and past Ramona, refashioning the surrounding debris as its own; over the sides of a freeway median until it rests hugging the median’s face like a lost love. Just as the Caravan passes over, that same force of wind begins to pull at Ramona’s core; she ascends like an angel. Life fills her body with a force that ejects the crystal windows of her soul back out into the world. The force doesn’t take Ramona into the sky, but back towards the Caravan; the crystals give chase.
The bitter wind sends a chill into Ramona’s body, increasing the tension in every muscle fiber. Ramona soars over the median, in a slightly lower path than the Caravan, and directly through the missing windshield of the Caravan; the crystals have caught up. They begin to form together, circling the direct center of Ramona’s forehead. The cracks of the crystals fade as they join to make a windshield that pushes Ramona back into the seat of the car.
The Caravan stops hugging the median and begins scurrying away in reverse. It runs with a limp, an absent front left tire, that causes the Caravan to swerve back and forth. Ramona’s grip on the steering wheel increases, erratically screaming help into the heart of the Caravan. With the strength of angels, the Caravan reaches out into the world and begins to pull at the rubber debris surrounding them; finally fashioning it into a good ‘ole Michelin recommended tire.
As the Caravan slowly regains the ability to run, the bitter wind leaves the two of their bodies; it’s miracle completed. Ramona’s grip begins to loosen as they regain control of their world. Ramona looks to her left at the unclipped seat belt resting against the car; she looks back into the crystal.
