Vital Signs

Still NaBloPoMoing, but today, sans prompt.

I felt like going around the block again. Upon my return at the light I had been at a few moments before, a voice in my head said, “There’s an accident.” It’s a quiet voice, more like a thought that floats in and out like a breeze softly jostling curtains on a bright, sunny day. It was there, then it was gone.

Driving along the turnpike, I see flashing lights behind me. A quick speedometer check reveals I’m within the zone of propriety (that along with the three cars ahead of me that I can’t catch say it’s not me), so I just move to the side and red-blue flashes zooms by.

As I approach the next exit, the red lights and siren of an ambulance enter just ahead of me.

About a mile later, the a rainbow of flashing lights reflect in the metal pieces of the median and off the cars that are involved: four to the right side (on the shoulder now) and one facing the median with its rear driver’s side smushed, its bumper laying nearby. A woman crouches near the open driver’s side door as the ambulance attendant rushes to her side. Traffic slips by slowly with thoughts of kindness for those involved and thankfulness that we weren’t.

I don’t know where that little voice comes from, but I learned to listen to it a long time ago. Go around the block, it said.

So I did.

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