Staring at Death

The body lay in the road.  The clothes were dirtied and ripped, the head and limbs lay askew in a manner that could mean only one thing.  As the bus slowed to get around the police cars and cones, the passengers all stared as one.  It was impossible not to look, horrified.  Low murmers sounded, for once the Chinese voices were muted.

It was a cold, bizarre sight.  This accident hadn't just occurred, the police had already arrived and laid out cones, the tow truck had winched the rear-ended car.  Yet, inexplicably, the body still lay exposed on the tarmac.  Why hadn't the police covered it?  It was almost as if it was on display.

This man had woken up today, just like me, full of busy plans.  He probably had said goodbye to his family, promising to be back soon.  And now, he was gone.  His body looked as if it had been ejected from whatever vehicle he had been in and tumbled onto the asphalt.  Chinese don't wear seatbelts.

Its difficult to not take a moment to ponder and cherish existence.  My problems are nothing.