WORLDS COLLIDE - THE SACRIFICE
This was a wet rip of metal and a low, ached-in-your-bones whump—the sound steel makes when it stops caring which way it was designed to bend.
Up ahead, at an intersection, a sedan lifted—lifted, not tipped—end over end as a giant backhand had smacked it. It flipped once, twice, came down on its side and slid across asphalt in a scream of orange sparks, kissed the curb, and stopped crooked.
The crowd’s noise inverted. Talk into silence. Silence into shrieks with edges.
People ran and forgot to look where.
A pram stalled. A stranger shoved it clear, because sometimes we remember we are a species.
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