The Accident

A man walks into a pub, his face bloody, eyes caught between a vacant stare and shock. His hands twitch at his sides as more deep red blood dribbles from under the cuffs of his shirt. He stands staring at the barman who hasn’t noticed his appearance yet; the pub is busy for an early Friday afternoon. Knives clatter amongst chinking glasses, cutting through the incoherent babble and obscure party music. He has gone unnoticed, apart from a small child no older than four, who is now pulling on his ripped trouser leg.

The man looks down and sees the child staring up at him whilst fiddling with the rip in his trousers. She smiles at him and then tightens her grip on his leg. Blood spills from his face into her strawberry blonde hair but she continues to grin at him. He looks around in search of the mother but everyone is too engrossed in their conversation, too loud, too happy, too eager to be in the company of others.

“Why you bleeding Mr?” said the girl, her hair now greased in his blood.

“I…I…I’ve…there’s been an accident!” He wasn’t sure if the blood was his or hers now.

“Sit down Mr, you need a plaster and then you will feel better,” said the little girl.

The man closes his eyes, feeling shaky he gropes around for something to steady himself, the woodchip acts as braille, helping him find his way down to a seat by the bar. The girl reaches for his hand and kisses it, gently reassuring him.

“There there…all better now Mr,” she says, as she makes her way over to the window of the pub.

He tips his head forwards, ready to position it between his knees, he is feeling faint now, he can feel it approaching quickly, stealing his oxygen. He tries to breathe deeply, he counts to ten and tries to remember what has just happened. Just before he passes out, he hears the pub door open and a woman screaming,

“He’s fucking killed her, the bastard’s killed her, where is he? I’m going to kill him, that fucking bastard’s just killed, my daughter!”