One cloudy afternoon, motorcycles roared down a two-lane road.
Dogs perked up and people listened as the engine sounds got closer.
There were two motorcycles from the sound of it.
They seemed to be racing but riding in tandem as if on a trip together.
Closer and closer.
Louder and louder.
Soon the roar was deafening as it passed the last fence line on the straightaway.
There are not words to properly convey the sounds that occur when an engine roar turns into a crash. Bam! Crash! Screech! Another Bam!
Then silence.
The dog’s ears remained perked up but this time listening for sounds instead of to them
People listened as well.
Silence continued.
When the birds began chirping again it seemed almost rude that life could continue after that kind of silence.
You know what silence I mean, the kind of silence that seems to imply nonexistence. The sort of silence that points to finality. That kind of silence.
Ambulance sirens soon overpowered the birds chirping as they grew louder on the same two lane road where moments before the motorcycle engines had roared.
The sirens continued until they two stopped at about the same point past the fence line where the motorcycle engines stopped earlier.
Voices could be heard saying words like “1,2,3,4,5, 1,2,3,4,5” and “there’s a pulse but it’s faint.”
Wheels rolled on pavement and grunts occurred as a motorcycle rider was lifted on to a stretcher…
Two riders were lifted on to stretchers but after the second one, a zipper could be heard closing.
Sirens soon wailed again going further along the road.
The silence came back for a moment.
Birds soon began chirping.
Dogs had long been inside chewing on their bones.
The people were watching the news.
The clouds began to rain and the afternoon turned into night.
The People's Barista 