Paige Provenzano
The Lights Were Flashing
The gates were down and the lights were flashing and the train was blaring its horn but the woman drove her car around the gates and onto the tracks and her car was hit by the train,
Her car was crushed by the impact of the train,
The crushed metal of her car had to be cut into to get her out,
They got her out but she was dead.
There are so many (usual) ways to die:
car accident, hypothermia, poisoning, chronic illness, old age, heart attack, wild animal attack.
How strange to die of a usual cause, a normal cause, in this time of a global pandemic,
How strange to die of an old way, rather than this new way, when all eyes are on this new way to die.
To say of her, she was told to isolate at home and go out only for necessities,
To say of her, she went out for necessities and on her way home drove her car around the gates and onto the train tracks,
To say of her, she was going to isolate from the virus but she died when her car was crushed by a train.
How strange to say these things of her.
While riding my bike on Sunday, I had thought, how strange it would be to die today while riding my bicycle,
Outside, in the fresh air.
Paige Provenzano is an emerging writer. She is working on a memoir about things she doesn’t remember and the untrustworthiness of the things she does.
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