collision

A girl in a black coat with long dark hair waited at the entryway to an inconsequential hotel, seated atop a wooden post overlooking a series of steps leading to the sidewalk. Dusk had begun its slow descent over the town and the ground started to collect a light dusting of snow. Sounds of scraping chairs, laughter, and clinking glass filtered out into the street as an elderly lamplighter walked by and dropped his ladder to the ground, nearly stumbling over it.

“Mr. Beaton,” said the girl while she looked towards the lamplighter, who merely turned his head before getting up and plodding forward in a turtle-like fashion. “Be a little more careful, for your own sake!”

There was a strange sensation that overtook the street called Dangier Prospect in the evening, a collective sense of tension and anticipation as the darkness settled and the various shops were illuminated in a brilliant collage of colors. It was the only place in the town of M— where people from all walks of life gathered to mingle and appeared to meld into a single, pulsating organism. Foreign merchants abound sold all manner of quality and dubious goods; children dashed through crowds in groups of three or four, chasing after one another; destitute artists and writers smoked cigarettes on benches situated at the edge of a nearby river; commoners conversed, quarreled, and debated while vagrants scurried amongst them, reaching hopeful hands into the pockets of the unaware.

Amidst all this were two carriages pulled by horses that hastened towards each other from opposite ends of the street. The girl on the post, who had a habit of analyzing everyone and everything, found her ears fixated on the strangely pleasant rhythmic sound of hooves clacking against the pavement. From her position she could clearly see the people riding inside.  “Amelia’s really taking her sweet time today. Forget it, I’m going home,” the girl thought, scanning the road one last time to ensure that her friend wasn't still making her way through the crowd.

In an unexpected and abrupt moment, she suddenly witnessed a stray dog swiftly dart across the street, startling both horses as the carriages were about to pass one another. Thunderous sounds of their wooden frames crashing and cracking soon followed, and the girl now found herself with her feet on the steps, heading down the sidewalk to where the commotion was unfolding. Within a few minutes, two dozen or so onlookers had gathered at the partial wreckage. Murmurs had begun to float like dandelion seeds through the crowd.

“Ack!” cried a youngster whose foot was nearly run over from a stray wheel that continued to roll on for a several seconds until it finally collapsed from exhaustion.

“Hey, hey! Look over there!” said one man when movement was perceived near the debris.

Lying on the cobblestone in a discombobulated state were seven people, all piled on top of each other and surrounded with rubbish pieces of wood.  They appeared to be, for the most part, miraculously unharmed.

“Just what in bloody hell is the meaning of this?” spat a pertubed man on the ground, tossing aside some wooden scraps before helping up a woman and a small boy. “Your driver should be hanged this instant!”

The man he addressed picked up and sloppily adjusted a top hat which had fallen next to him and struggled to get on his feet. He had an unkempt beard and appeared to sway dangerously from side to side when he stood.

“Whassat? Ya think this is Albert’s fault? Albert, where are you? Oof, my head...”

“Right here Mr. Perry,” came a weak voice a short distance away.

“W-whaddya hafta say for yourself Albert? Speak up!”

“There was a dog on the road that frightened the horses sir… their driver will tell you the same.”

The other driver, however, was completely unconscious and did not respond to the aggravated jostling of his employer. “You unsightly trollop! You’ll pay for this out of your pocket or with your own life!” said the enraged man, fuming uncontrollably. He grabbed Albert (who was in fact rather handsome for a coachman) by his collar and knocked Mr. Perry back down in the process. Several men from the crowd quickly rushed in to pull the man back and subdue him. A nearby woman sitting on the ground—Mr. Perry’s wife—covered her face with her hands and began to sob quietly.

*

Two or three hours had passed and the girl stared down into the moon-lit river, half expecting an unrecognizable face to gaze back at her. “Is my mind playing tricks on me? I swear I saw that little boy go home with the wrong family. He was sitting in the carriage with Mr. Perry and his wife before the accident, and then he left with the two from the other carriage. But how is that possible? ” she thought, wracking her memory of the event until she could no longer think. A relieved sigh in the form of a small cloud escaped her lips when the familiar features of her face appeared in the undulating ripples below. As she stood shivering, a distant bell signaled to her the late hour of the night, and she turned and started the walk back home on the now mostly deserted street.

At dawn the next day, Mr. Beaton the lamplighter trudged up along the river and quietly prepared to put out a nearby lamp. His heart nearly skipped a beat when he noticed an eerily familiar reflection of a young girl’s face in the water, her eyes fluttering before the visage slowly disintegrated and only the flow of the river remained.