It was raining cats and dogs. On the road, I was
walking on a drenched pathway, and the slippery concrete made me occasionally lose
my grip on the ground. Although I did not fall, other people walking along with
me on the road also faced this problem – even several tumbled.
I headed to a nearby shelter, and waited for the rain
to cease. Pedestrians walking along the pathway instantly rushed to take cover
from the rain. Cars on the road accelerated furiously, slicing the rain with
zooming velocity. The raging gale blew
down the upright palm trees across the road. Everything was deluged by the heavy
precipitation.
Immediately, a motorcycle dashing quickly past my eyes
caught my attention. However, what surprised me more, was the driver: a little girl. Worse still, behind her a little boy
circled her waist with her trembling arms, embracing her tightly. As they maneuvered
themselves in the midst of the pooling rainwater, the wintry chilliness of the blustery
weather notwithstanding, they headed to the intersection.
If there was something about the city’s road traffic
that is concerning, it would be the rampant underage cyclists, who, despite the
guarding police, still obstinately abused their leeway to dash on the road carelessly,
what with their inadequate safety equipment, personal licensed to drive, and parental
supervision suspiciously lacking.
I witnessed as the two rapscallions attempted to gain
speed on the slippery ground, having caught the little girl by surprise as she
frantically wobbled and powerlessly regained her balance on the vehicle. The
wheel of the motorcycle eventually lost its grip on the road, and flung the two
young passengers in midair, harshly landing onto the coarse lane. The loud
crash of motorcycle bashing the road pierced through the thunderous rain, sliding
through the hustling cars which crashed and bumped the motorcycle ruthlessly to
the sidewalk.
They were awfully injured, lying helplessly and crying
out loud on the road. Their motorcycle was beyond help, reduced to fragments scattering
the road. A part of me malevolently grinned. See, that’s what’s bound to
happen to naughty kids.
However, other people gasped and shrieked soundly, yet
they just stand there and blame the two kids for their own tragedy. Yes, the
dreadful accident was uncalled for, as both victims were young and appeared too
innocent to be injured, but it was they who subjected themselves to the
probability of this injury.
No matter how sorry I felt for the two youngsters, they
were just a woeful pair of stubborn dullard, and they deserved the accident.
They deserved to be looked down on with condescending pity for their own tragedy, because that was the only effective way for them to learn how to stop
harming themselves on the road.
For a moment, nobody moved. For a moment, not a
single pedestrian tried to go out of their way to approach them under the rain to
attend to their aid. For a moment, those who sheltered let the klaxon of the
cars chide them for their own immaturity instead.
But the girl was quivering, sobbing. She dragged herself
towards her crying brother. He was bleeding. With her feeble arms she propped
the boy to the sidewalk. She tried to cover the bleeding opening with her
hands, but to no avail. He kept bleeding and crying. A ghastly pool began
collecting around his head, and it expanded quickly. She was beginning to cry,
desperate and restless. Her movement spoke of anxiety. The motorcycle was deformed
next to them. It was a scene too painful for anybody to see.
Their lamentation screamed regret and help, as their
mournful howling pierced through the whirling wind, overpowered the blaring
cars, and screamed into the frozen hearts of spiteful pedestrians.
Suddenly, the rain stopped.
By then people were more willing to approach and flock
around them. Some came along with medical equipment and attended to their
wounds. The commotion grew. It was then that they realize that all help was too
late. It was then that they realised their hard-faced ignorance can only bring them regret and shame.
The boy had stopped crying. He stopped crying a cry that
he paid with all his blood.
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