Community Announcement: Part Two
Here's a recurring fantasy of mine:
I step up to a pelican crossing in London, and there's a car approaching, a fat shiny Beamer. It's clear that the driver has no intention of stopping for the likes of me. He's an important guy, after all; a busy guy. He has clients to see and briefcases to carry - where on earth will he find the four seconds it takes to pause his journey at a crossing? Time is money, people! He could privatise five hospitals in those four seconds.
As he prepares to sail right past, he stares straight ahead in some needless pretence that he has somehow failed to see me by the road side. At the last possible moment, I step off the pavement and position myself squarely in his path, turning to meet his eyes.
The impact shatters the bones in my thighs, my kneecaps split apart, and there's a collective gasp from the bus shelter on the other side of the road. My upper body pitches forward towards the windscreen, a grin fixed on my face, my eyes still locked on his as they widen in shock. My face hits the glass and there's just the tiniest fraction of a second during which the two objects resist each other, until suddenly they both burst. My lips are ripped off and my nose collapses. One of my eyes is torn open and my jaw is snapped back under my chin as I am propelled through the ragged hole. The glass shreds my throat and I spray the leather interior with copious black jets of blood. That suit is gonna need some fucking dry-cleaning too.
Right about now, his reflexes kick in, and he slams the brake pedal into the carpet. There's a kind of equilibrium as my body just hangs from the windscreen, my face hanging just inches from his. He can't take his eyes off my jeering, lipless, semi-toothed grin and the blood-streaked vitreous humour running down my cheek. My tongue flaps limply from the bottom of my jawless head, razzing him as he sits rigid in horror. When he eventually steps from his car, shaking and green-faced, he'll realise that the substance in his mouth is a mixture of brain tissue, skull fragments and clumps of matted sticky hair, and that's when he'll vomit. He'll be missing quite a bit of work for the next while.
In other words: drivers, please stop at pelican crossings for pedestrians. Somebody's gonna get hurt one of these days.