Pedestrian Crossing

by: Rania Mirza

content warnings: death, car crash, mild gore

I was walking to class when it happened. I almost tripped over an uneven concrete slab on the sidewalk when my boot caught on a lifted edge, and I would have fallen into the street. I took a moment to collect myself and looked around to see if anyone saw. The city street was weirdly quiet that day, only a few students walking to class or cars coming through, so when it happened, everyone was shocked.

I took the same route every day; I saw the same groups of people and the same littered streets. Every so often, I saw the aftermath of a car accident—people yelling at each other, pointing fingers, and cussing at each other. So when the accident happened, I thought I would be prepared to witness it.

The sound of tires screeching reached my ears before my eyes realized what I had witnessed.  A student was crossing the street. A car was turning left. The crosswalk sign was broken, like the sidewalk I tripped over moments before. The vehicle’s front bumper hit the student, and the student lost their balance and hit the street with a loud thud.

Gasps escaped the mouths of all the pedestrians waiting for their turn to cross as we all watched in disbelief. The car’s front wheel rolled over the student’s body. Then, the back wheel rolled over the student’s head. I never knew what the sound of a skull cracking sounded like until that moment. The quiet of the busy city allowed the cracking of the student’s skull to echo off the tall buildings across the street. The color of the student’s blood splattered along the road resembled the brick sidewalk. It settled there, some spots brighter than others, some areas looking like paint. I couldn’t look away. The driver stopped and looked around at the group of pedestrians at the crosswalk, seeing a group of witnesses. The driver took off and didn’t look back. A girl ran over to the dead student, and a man dialed 911.

I just stood there, waiting for the crosswalk sign to change. We all did. The fire department arrived, then the police, and, finally, an ambulance. I glanced at the crosswalk sign every few seconds, but it had no light, no stop hand, no walking pedestrian. It was lifeless, like the student on the ground.

I was so busy waiting for the signal that I didn’t notice the police putting up caution tape. I was probably super late for class, but I wouldn’t cross without the signal.

I stood there for a few hours until an officer approached me.

“Are you ok?” He asked, touching me on the shoulder.

I looked at him and pointed at the crosswalk sign. “Yes, I’m just waiting for the signal to cross,” I said.

“It’s broken, the power was probably killed from a fuse shortage or something,” he said.

“Like that student,” I said, eyes fixed on the crosswalk sign.

“It happens often. I put in a report, it should be fixed by tomorrow,” the officer said, removing his hand from my shoulder.

“I’ll just wait here until it changes,” I said.

I barely noticed when another vehicle arrived with men in weird-looking suits with gloves carrying a bag to collect the lifeless body.