The radio is above my head; the window at my side.
Inside the flipped car, I wait. Searching for buttons of the CD player, wanting to press stop on the funkadelic jazz. The guitar whines a wocka wocka beat. It cries for me. The soundtrack of a wreck and disaster.
Blood creeps from the car. It is neon orange and frothy, crawls past my view. It oozes with time’s slow beat.
Faces peer through the curved lens and view me as a delicate specimen. I mouth words, lips flapping without sound to expel. Their fragmented faces and asking eyes appear ghoulish and sloppy. Skin warped by the taunting effect of smashed glass.
Are you alive?
Chained upside down by the strong weave of a seatbelt, the people appear to stand on their heads. Their skulls supported by the ground of the sky. Their hands press upon the slivered glass. They are feetless and floating. I long to lower myself down to the window on the ground. How my face feels so ruddy and ready to burst. I had been on my way to work to make coffee for patrons during the evening shift, so they can stay awake and be alive. Stay alive.
The faces smear from the center of the window to the edges and then wash away to the corners of the street. A helmet appears, looming and large enough to block out the span of the cracked window. It shields the face of the man who will save me. My Perseus will slay the beast, which traps me. With a twist and a crack, a hole is created allowing the voices to rush in.
Did you pass out? Can you breathe okay?
Coated in rubber, his hand unlocks the chain of the seatbelt while his other arm breaks my fall from the plush seat of the ceiling. He knocks away the glass of the door he snapped off and heaves me through the hole he constructed.
Around me, wail the sirens. Around me are his arms. Together, we roll away past the gaping fishlike faces of ghouls. Our chariot awaits with whirling lights and dark red paint like blood.