ferus rex

Bobby had lain dead on the sidewalk for 27 minutes before the police arrived. In the bluish light, his blood had looked like a thick, black cape spread out on the ground, attached somewhere above the nape of his neck and fanning downward over his shoulders, giving his yellow T-shirt black epaulets of stain.

The sirens had swelled up from their constant, never-too-far-off level of noise, then louder, above the threshold which meant the matter was quite close. Then the curtains had parted and doors where cracked open for peeping, and whomever was not already on the street and apprised of what had occurred, emerged and looked for the telling red and amber carousels of light.

The first police car had come, going the wrong way up the street, and a minute later, the ambulance moved in and stopped traffic utterly. For the very young children, those still too young for Detective, the ambulance, with its bright lights, attendant noises and flurry of activity, beckoned like an ice cream truck. It was only the solemn and repelled expressions on the adults which kept them back, tiny faces partly hidden by a parental skirt or pant leg.