Talking Dead
A hand brushed against his forehead, he felt the blood spill over his eyes, making the scen awash with red. Hands race down his body.
"You're lucky. No broken bones, just some bruises and a head wound. It doesn't appear to be a concussion, but sir -"
"Thank you."
The person in front of his nods, "Yes, just to make sure I would like you to go to the hospital for the night."
He looks around, the dark of the night being swallowed by flashing, whirling lights. It mayhem, he thinks, it doesn't even appear organized. People run, there are still screams and Quatre closes his eyes.
"Yes. But... how will I get there? My car." The words come out slowly, carefully, with a bit of slur. The red car, has no windscreen, with one side crushed in. Quatre suddenly feels glad that he didn't pick up the hitchhiker. If he had, they would have been the one under the twisted metal.
"Just wait here, they'll be taking some others over soon." The man seems to disappear in an instant, and Quatre stumbles as the reassuring presence of life vanishes.
A woman walks by, her hand reaching for his as he nearly pitches forward. "Hey, there, steady, steady. why don't you come with me. I'll get you a blanket..."
Her words are then meshed together, as Quatre clutches onto her comfort.
"A blanket?" He mumbled.
"You're shaking, dear."
And he is. It can't be because he is cold. Shaken to the bone, he nods his thanks and lets her lead him over to a sectioned off area. A small girl is huddled closely in her mother's lap, eyes shut tight. A older man, sits with his head down. A young man, like him, appears to be crying. Others.
"What happened?" It comes out of his mouth without him even thinking of it. The woman freezes, her smile becoming more off putting than friendly.
"An accident." Is all she will say.
He looks around. "But how?" All of this doesn't make any sense. He saw it, a car seemed to stop, a truck couldn't get out of the way and the brakes just wouldn't work for him. He couldn't stop.
"I'm not quite sure." She hands him a blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders. "I'm sure the police will want to speak to you. Maybe they'll have the answers."
He nods, not quite sure himself.
"Now, you feel better?"
Not really. So he doesn't answer.
She seems to understand anyway. "Right. I'll be off. Just stay here, now then..." She walks off, and Quatre soon loses sight of her.
Clutching at the blenket, Quatre tries to ignore the wails, as the little girl opens her eyes. He only wishes that he had the youth to start crying himself. Biting his lip, he pulls the blanket over his head, loving the feeling of comfort as the lights and noise seem to dim.
A small gasp, a tear in the corner of his eye and his body shudders. No one can see him, Quatre's glad of that.