Sitting on the back of a truck on his way to his part time job as a construction worker, John Prescot has his headphones on and is listening to a random playlist daydreaming about his future as an architect
He does construction work on a part time basis to support his wife and save up for his studies, John did not grow up with a lot of luxury in his life. His father owned a lumber mill which supplied all the wood for the town and made good money till it closed down when he was five years old. Since then his family lived on the interest his father got from his investments, all of which was lost when his father passed away just as he graduated from high school. Apart from his part time job in construction he also manages to push through four nights a week as a bar tender at a local night club where he makes double in tips than he does in the draining concrete pouring activities during the day.
With his hood over his head and music on his headphones turned almost to max volume to drown out the battering of the wind and hiss of passing cars he slowly loses himself in an all too familiar song, "lips of an angel" which he listened to almost everyday with the first girl he ever loved. His two co-workers, Alejandro, a short stocky and full of jokes man in his late thirties and Brian, somewhat the oposite of Alejandro, in his early thirties, slender, tall and a sence of humor as dry as the Sahara desert sits with their knees tucked up to their chests and their heads low to escape the bite of the wind.
"Hey John, get your butt over here, that winds gonna blow your brains out man!" Al calls out as the truch picks up speed but his words land on deaf ears.
" Man when are we there? My backs killing me!" Brian says, turning around to face forward so that he can see where they're heading.
"You sound like an old man, we're about half way bro!" Al says, shifting to adjust his posture. Straightening his back to relieve a slight cramp.
"Whats that asshole doing?!" Brian shouts just as the driver of their truck slams on the brakes, tyres screeching, the nose of the truck dips so hard the bumper nearly touches the road surface. Brian falls forward landing on Al with a force that knocks the wind out of them both. John loses his grip and falls off the edge of the truck bed where he was sitting just as the truck makes contact head on with a drunk driver in a blue sedan who swerved into their lane.
John's body hurls through the air, nearly twenty meters before slamming into the red dirt shoulder of the road sending plumes of dust into the air. The impact is only felt for a break of a second then a deep darkness, a black so intense that the color can be felt on his skin engulfs him. Numbness takes him, the hum of his music fades away into nothing.
Moments later the freeway is lit with red and blue lights as emergence responders and police scramble at the scene. Pure carnage laying before them. The truck took to the air when it collided and flipped. Its roof crushed in like a coke can, the equipment that was neatly stacked on the bed now lay scattered on the road.
The powder blue sedan's front suspension gave in on impact. Its nose firmly pinned to the ground and its entire front portion up to where the back rest of the front seats should be is torn off at an upward angle.
Paramedics found john lying face down metres off the road in a trench, his phone still playing his music, his body motionless except for his very shallow rise and fall of his abdomen from breathing, a slight gurdling sound escaping his throat.
The lead paramedic rushes to his side, calling for the stretcher and braces, immidiately assessing what he can on John's body before getting ready to flip hin over on the board for transport.
The scene was grim, shards of glass and torn metal scattered all around, emergency vehicles parked in a perimeter around the scene with men taping off the area and redirecting traffic, police vehicles settin up stop and go stations as well as assisting with the victims of the accident as best they could. One officer was relieving a medic with CPR on the driver of the sedan as the medic tried to stop the bleeding on his shoulder and bicep.
Curious travelers stopping to take a look at the scene was directed away by other cops and a human fence was forming to prevent spectating as the scene became under controll.
A deep silence, heavy in the air, mixed with the smell of blood, oil and gasoline settled over the area. Even the sound of the traffic faded from the ears of the emergency personnel as the casualties were loaded into ambulances.