After the Show
I’ve never been a fan of crowds. Riding metro after an event in DC, sweaty, stinky bodies pressed together, is my version of hell.
Bodies jostle. An unreasonably angry voice booms with that ugly tone that makes me shrink back into my seat. Gasps, a woman screams, a body falls. The nice man who gave me his seat. Blood pools on the left side of his chest. And I hear it, the rattle rising from the back of his throat, as if there were no other sounds in the car, a desperate sound I’ve heard once before. A trickle of blood spills over his lips. For just a moment, as I lean forward to offer my hand, my presence, his eyes meet mine, and I witness the exact moment life leaves his body.
Sascha Darlington 4/26/2018