My Writer's Cramp Pieces

The Collision

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The Writer's Cramp  (13+) Write the best story or poem in 24 hours or less and win 10K GPs! #333655 by Sophy

New Prompt: Write a story or poem about being on the scene of a car wreck. You can make it from any point of view including the driver, the emergency personnel or an onlooker.



When two cars collide on a mountain road, it's a horrible thing to see.

The Collision

It was dreadful. Just the noise alone broke the peace of the forest. I looked up and gritted my teeth, then stuck a paw over my right ear, the one that hears better and hurts sometimes because the world seems much louder than I remember it being when I was young.

A horrid smell drifted to me from the chilly breeze blowing from the northeast. Hot tires. Brake oil. Metal on metal. And blood. Oh, how I hate that odor. My nose wrinkled and trembled with fright. I rubbed it and then smeared dirt across the left side of my muzzle. That helped a bit, but it didn't take away that awful stink.

The blood smell drifted along with the rancid stench of humans. I was relieved for a moment. My kits were all safe. No raccoons had been hurt this time. But still how nauseating. I took a bit of some clover grass and chewed to relieve my troubled stomach. That helped.

My littlest youngling scurried up to me. "Momma, Momma," he cried. "Someone's moaning. Do you hear it? What should we do? Should we help them, Mom? Should we?"

That little rascal was jumping up onto my back and scampering down, then running around in circles. I cuffed him once, but that didn't slow him, so I placed one paw on his back and squished him. Immediately he whimpered and turned upside down.

I licked his face, reassuring him that I wasn't really angry. He just had to learn some respect. I told him so, and he nodded, his eyes almost as big as pinecones and twice as bright.

Little Harry came running up then. He'd been spying on the wreckage. I sighed and called the rest of my younglings. Three more kits came running. I ordered them all to follow me and led them closer to watch.

Out on the pavement, two cars had collided. I could never understand if humans weren't able to see well or rammed into each other because they were fighting over a potential mate. It seemed a terrible amount of destruction to me. I hated for my kits to see such things, but I knew that they must. Such learning was part of their education.

A noisy vehicle with a blue flashing light was curled up on the side of the two other four-wheeled monsters. It had its tail up and people were stashing a human inside. The man was prone, obviously one of the moaners we'd heard from far away. His body reeked of blood and sickness, but most frightening of all -- the faint bittersweet scent of death was upon him. That poor human would never return to his wheeled plaything.

Another man was still draped inside his metal box. I sniffed at the air. His aroma was different. The yeasty stench of beer. I knew that odor. I had smelled it before in the small cylinders alongside the road.

My kits were worried about the things they were seeing. I explained and then used the moment to teach.

"Stay away from humans, my little raccoons. They are dangerous creatures, often killing each other just to see who is faster and stronger. It would be understandable if they only did this in mating season, but they do it night and day without any conceivable reason."

My kits had many questions. I did my best to respond, but the scene down below was upsetting us all too greatly. I ordered my children to return to the tree. They scampered away, relieved to be free from such violence.

I took one last look down at the sight, shook my head, and walked away.

That night although I told my children a sweet story about a tree that was nourished by sun and rain and grew upwards into the light, still they had nightmares. I got little sleep due to their outbursts of tears. Only the old owl kept me company as I attempted to soothe the fears of my kits. Finally when at last they had all quieted, and I was able to tuck my paws under my muzzle and close my eyes, I too dreamed of the horror I'd witnessed that day.

It wasn't until morning that my good humor finally returned. Then my children and I scampered about under the warmth of the sun and scratched for buried seed pods. Later we chased fat, juicy caterpillars across the dew-fat blades of grass, gobbling down every one of them we found. Big black crows, tiny little wrens, and one boisterous blue jay filled the air with trills and jagged calls; an old chipmunk chattered down at us about the quality of acorns over in the meadow under the oak tree; and a funny little bunny with scraggly whiskers and the shortest tail I'd ever seen played leap frog with my kits, while I caught a well-deserved nap beneath the shade of a sweet-smelling pine tree.

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(837 words)