"She isn't breathing," the paramedic whispered.
Cars whizzed by noisily into the night, while above them the overpass glowed in a mixture of emergency vehicle lights and road flares. Two police officers stood at both ends of the yellow tapped-off section, redirecting traffic as another ambulance headed away from the scene, its sirens screaming. In the middle of the carnage laid a mangled candy apple convertible on its side; it looked as though a giant had crushed it in his fist. A red, blotchy sheet covered a lump that lay some fifteen feet in front of it. A small distance away from the butchered car sat its object of impact: an old powder blue Nissan. The car's front end was splayed into crumpled metal, pieces of it littering the pavement as it slid to its final resting place. It was noticeably more dented on the passenger side, where the door was missing completely. Where the door had been, a river of crimson began, smeared desperately onto the pavement by the weight of a dragging body. The trail led to a woman sprawled on her back, the ruby liquid pooling beneath her. A blonde man was knelt to her side, clutching her hand in his own. The paramedic's arms continued to pump in rhythm against her chest. The woman's dress was decorated in a collage of vibrant wild flowers; most were now patched with red. He attempted to resuscitate the woman again, but there was no response. He removed his hands.
"I'm sorry…" he said softly.
The man kept his bleary eyes focused on the woman's face, unblinkingly. His body swayed ever so lightly as he fought for balance, the wind whispering all around him. Sweat slithered down his face in tiny trails with his dark-lined birthmarks seemingly directing it down his face. A few of the closer officers spoke in hushed voices after hearing the paramedic's confirmation, but the man was oblivious to everything but her. He looked like a porcelain statue, all but his trembling bloody hands betraying the effect.
Her glassy emerald eyes stared blankly back at him, the pupils dilated and unmoving. The same lips that kissed him at their wedding were now parted, the last of her life blood trickling down her cheek. He cradled her paled hand, coveting the warmth that echoed in her limp fingers. Images danced wildly in front of his eyes: the day they met; they night they first made love; the moment he proposed. They vanished abruptly, replaced by her bloody form lying still in front of him. Dead.
"Sakura," he sobbed.
A few moments passed while the officers at the scene exchanged somber expressions. The paramedic began to pack up his things as one of the leading officers approached the weeping man. He reached out and touched his shoulder.
"It's time for you to go," he said.
The man slowly rose to his feet, favoring his left leg as he stood, his back facing to the cop. The officer turned to another patrolman who held a small electronic device, its digital screen lit up with a red decimal. They exchanged nods, both turning back to the unsteady man. The closer cop stepped behind him, moving in a quick practiced motion followed by the sounds of clicking metal.
The cuffs were cold.
