The electrical wires, swaying in the wind like the hair of a crucified witch began to fall one by one.
they cried like obscenities as they fell to earth. White and yellow sparks flashed out, exploding in fireworks or tears from a strangled child.
The truck one with the road, was the only vehicle in sight, picked its way along the black tar. The driver is tired and yellow eyed like a demon who is deprived of sleep. He had eaten sixty dollars worth of drugs to keep him active and awake but his brain was trying to sleep.
Green pus spilling from a wound, the driver sees the sparks and wires but drives through them, laughing. He swearves the truck into the next car he sees.
A green sedan, going faster than it should because the speedo always exaggerates. A family groggy with the early morning, frightened by the wind, sit in the darkness of the vehicle. The children, three little kiddies, are asleep in the back. Their mother is awake but looking out the side window. The father is looking straight ahead at the truck that is crossing the line. He thinks; the wind is making it unsteady, is it coming toward me?
The truck engulfs the small car, the flames engulf them all. Death rides heavily upon them, a skull upon a dark figure riding a war horse with huge heavy feet.
The road is cold and dark, except for where the flames leap and spill. The wires are silent now, the sun sits heavily below the horizon a red glow zaps across the distant hills. The wind knocks a tree over, the hard wind keeps on relentlessly.