Sgt. Gordon crouched over the bloody red puddle which was
all that was left of the victim.
"Jesus..." he murmured silently, shaking his head. He'd seen
road kill on more than one occasion but this one was
particularly nasty. There was absolutely no identifiable
piece of this person, and there were quite a few pieces
spread across the road.
"You okay?" Asked Brady, he was pretty new and stayed as far
as he could from what appeared to be the bulk of the corpse,
namely the bigger puddle.
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Were there any witnesses? Anyone see
anything?"
"Yeah, there are a few. The driver says this guy just ran in
front of the car, but that's what we always hear from the
drivers."
It was true. Gordon couldn't recall many cases where the
driver immediately admits having fallen asleep while
driving, or taking his or her eyes off the road. The
explanation always starts with 'he jumped right in front of
me, officer!'
"Go on", he said.
"Well", Brady continued, "the real interesting info comes
from the bystanders. They all say the victim, apparently a
middle aged male, really did run into the road. But he
wasn't running away, so they say, he was laughing
hysterically, yelling 'I'm invincible' and 'I can't die'."
Gordon stared blankly at Brady for a moment. He shook his
head again. Sometimes he thought this job would get the
better of him. How much longer would he be able to see yet
another life pointlessly down the drain?
"Fine Brady, thanks. Do me a favor and scatter those people
ok? There's not much to look at, anyway."
Brady turned and walked towards the slowly thickening herd
of people circling the accident site, hands raised and
waving.
Nothing to see here people, go back to your homes. If only
there really was nothing to see Gordon wished, as he did so
often, to himself. He really wished he could understand
god's plan. Why was it important for this guy to die, and so
gruesomely? He crouched to have one last look at the red
puddle, flesh floating in it like meatballs with sauce, and
then got up and into his cruiser, waiting for Brady to come
in as well. He would drive back to the precinct and life
would carry on as it always does, and he would never know
why.


Tom sat hunched, gripping his feet in a corner. He was
rocking back and forth absentmindedly, like we all do while
in serious thought. We walk around, bite some part of our
clothes (the sleeve if it's a sweatshirt and the collar if
it's a T shirt), and fiddle with some object we find lying
around. We do this almost without thinking about it. The
body needs some attention, in a sense; it needs to keep
itself occupied so it won't go numb. Tom had been shaking
that way for a long time, and his body would surly have
withered away had it not found something to occupy itself
with. Tom was replaying images in hid mind, ones he would
remember forever. He could remember every muscle movement
his body made and every small insignificant thought that had
occurred to him in Sandra's final moments; the image of
Sandra looking at him, sitting in the passenger seat next to
him, and he could remember her scream as clearly as if he
was hearing it now. These things come up at you like a shark
from seemingly calm water, and it's the biggest fucking
shark you've ever seen.
He couldn't comprehend why the hell he survived. It didn't
make any sense at all. She was the one wearing the seatbelt
for crying out loud! He practically never put a seatbelt on
while driving; it always bothered him and made him feel
uncomfortable. He figured he had more chances of having an
accident if he kept thinking about the damn seatbelt than
the road. He left out a few crucial variables to that
theory, meaning the other drivers on the road. Maybe deep
inside every person really does believe that if he'll be
okay he won't be in an accident, and that might be true, but
not every person is okay and if that person has an accident
it is most likely that all the people near him will have one
too. That's what happened, in a nutshell. That's how he
preferred to tell the story because it hurt to relive it too
much, and he was already doing that in his nightmares.
His Fiat was cruising smoothly along the road, no bumps or
rain or anything to make the trip remotely hazardous. He and
Sandra were in the car, and he remembered she'd told him a
good joke. He couldn't recall what it was but it had made
him laugh heartily. It was just about the only thing he
couldn't remember about that day, and he didn't understand
it. He remembered her expression as she spoke, and how big
and beautiful her mouth got when she laughed, her lips
forming a red aura around it, but he couldn't make out what
she said. He did remember how funny it was, though, Sandra
had the best jokes, God knows where she got them.
The truck came out of nowhere. That's the most common line,
ridiculously false. The truck didn't come from nowhere, it
was right down the road and he saw it coming, and so did
anyone who bothered to look. But Tom didn't think, couldn't
possibly conceive that the truck would swerve in on them
like it did. Later, in the trial, Tom found out that the
driver, Adam Bower, was in fact intoxicated and was leaning
to get a beer can that had fallen to the floor when the
steering wheel gave in under his weight and rammed the
little Fiat right on the side. They would have survived if
they were out in the country or a field. But they weren't.
They were right in the heart of the city and they went
flying right into the nearest telephone pole. The front of
the car nearly broke in two as the pole ran through it
almost hitting the windshield. Tom, unbound by a seatbelt
flew right through the glass and hit the sidewalk with a
bone-breaking force. Sandra was still in the car, and even
as Tom got up and staggered toward it, bleeding terribly
from his chest and broken nose, his right arm dangling
lifelessly beside him, he believed she was okay. He saw her
motionless figure through the cracked window but as he came
closer he knew there was no point in trying to wake her up.
The seatbelt must have been too high and close to her
throat; when the car came to its sudden stop her neck simply
snapped as it was pushed violently against the seatbelt. Her
eyes were open, but not fully, she had a hazy, empty look on
her face. Her head was drooped against her chest and blood
was dripping from her mouth. Tom knew he would never forget
that image of her, no matter how many smiling pictures of
her he kept near him.
Now, sitting in his apartment, nothing but a dull void to
him, he began to speculate. 'Why?' was the first and most
obvious question that sprung to his mind. The simple answer
would have to be 'you got hit by a truck, stupid! That's
why.' But that's not what he meant. Why her? Why someone who
never did anything wrong in her life, someone whose very
existence made his life worth living? He didn't want to move
a muscle until he figured out a satisfying answer. He hadn't
shown up for work in a while, and he wondered how long his
boss would keep showing him kindness and understanding.
Sooner or later he'd fire him if he didn't show. Tom didn't
care. Nothing mattered now. Jim, a friend from work, was on
his way now, probably with a six pack and some smokes. Not
that Tom would drink or smoke, but at least they'd keep Jim
occupied until he felt he had no more obligation to stay.
Jim was a good friend but he never felt comfortable in
situations like these, he felt he didn't know how to console
people properly. Tom got up to the sound of a knock at the
door and let Jim in, who was indeed holding a six pack and
the smokes tucked in his jeans pocket no doubt.
"How're you doing?" he asked, and sat next to Tom against a
wall on the floor.
"Same as yesterday..." Tom sighed. It seemed that Jim was
already at a loss for words. Tom appreciated his gesture; he
needed someone to talk to even if he couldn't talk back. "I
just don't know why, Jim. I mean, I know why, I don't know
why?" Jim looked at him, comprehension in his eyes. "How can
I believe in anything good when this kind of thing
happens?"
Jim remained silent, looking at the floor, apparently in
deep thought. Then he spoke, and proved divine coincidences
could happen. "I have a confession to make", he said, and
Tom just looked at him, waiting for him to continue.  "I had
a talk with Earl from personnel yesterday, you know him."
Jim looked at Tom and he nodded in approval. "Anyway, he was
ranting on and on about this guy he met on the subway, one
of those freaks you always see there. The man was bald, monk
bald but he wasn't Asian or anything. He had a lot of
clothes on even though it wasn't cold and he sat opposite
Earl and just eyed him, smiling. Earl said that after a few
minutes the man really started to bother him so he asked him
to stop. The man kept smiling and asked Earl if he knew why
he was on the subway. Earl kept saying how odd this guy was
and that he talked to him just so he'd back off. Earl told
him he was on his way to work, and asked the man if he knew
what work was. I thought the next part of the story would be
how this bald guy chased Earl with a knife, but he didn't do
anything. He chuckled at Earl's taunt and just eyed him
again. 'You don't know why you're here' the bald guy tells
him, and Earl is really pissed now. 'What do you want from
me?' he says, raising his voice, and the man answers as
calmly as ever, 'I want to know if you'd like to know why
you're here?' Earl told me that out of sheer annoyance he
played along and told the man he wanted to know why. Then
this guy sits up straight in his seat, blinking like mad and
starts mumbling to himself. Then, like out of a trance he
starts telling Earl why he's there. And I mean why. He goes
on and on about what's going on in the bus he could've taken
and why his car's at the shop. Earl was so amazed he started
believing it. No one could make up so many lies so fast.
After the bald guy was done, Earl stared at him with a
shocked expression. Then the subway stopped and the man got
off. 'This is my stop', he told him, and handed him a small
note; 'this is my address, if you need more direction or
know of someone who does.' He showed me the note and I
copied down the address, thinking of you and all we've
spoken about god's damn ways. So the real reason I came here
was to ask you this: Do you want to know why?" he asked, and
he had seriousness to his voice that was frightening.
Tom had known Jim for a while, and he was no liar. Even when
he did lie it would be small insignificant lies. He'd be too
lazy to work up such a long lie. Of course, that didn't mean
that he was right about all this, or that Earl wasn't lying.
He knew who Earl was but wasn't very close to him.
"You think Earl's bullshitting?"
"I wouldn't have come forward with this if I had, Tommy, you
know that. I know it's far fetched but who knows? Maybe he's
for real."
Tom was skeptical, no doubt, but he knew from the moment he
realized where this conversation was going that he was going
to try this out. He was that desperate. He had to know
something, at least try or he'd go mad.
A half an hour later he was on the street, walking through
the cool night air and streetlights. Jim had parted with him
a couple of blocks back. Tom had invited him to come along
but Jim said he was quite happy not knowing why. He was the
smart one. For Tom it was an obsession already, not a simple
inquiry. He felt Sandra's ghost hovering over him, unable to
rest until it has accepted its fate. But he knew it wasn't
Sandra's ghost. At least, it didn't really seem like a
ghost, more of a nagging feeling in his chest. It was his
conscience. He felt guilty. He was driving the car, after
all. And no matter how many judges or juries or friends
would tell him he was innocent, he still would always see in
his mind his girlfriend's empty soulless stare, dangling
from a broken neck. She was his responsibility, period.
Maybe she was still alive, but in shock, when he staggered
over to her, that fear erupting in his stomach. He was no
doctor. Instead of calling an ambulance he just fell down
and cried like a kid. What kind of man was he if he couldn't
protect the woman he loved? It all boiled down to that
question. It would remove his guilt and he could sleep again
if he just knew there was a reason for it. That she was
meant to die at that time. It wasn't fair that God didn't
share his reasons. Humans are intelligent creatures, we
would understand if he just told us. He never believed in
God as much as he did then. You only believe in God when you
need him. When you need someone to ask for help and there's
no one earthly around. It's a prayer for nature, for the
cosmos, to change some written scientific law just for a
second so things will turn out alright. People can live
their life by science but in a real moment of stress they'll
turn to God, in whichever form they choose him to be. Tom
asked to turn back time and bring his honey back. He asked
but didn't expect a positive answer, or any answer at all.
He just found himself mumbling as he walked block after
block of dirty sidewalks and old buildings. He could settle
for just knowing why. He stared at the address again and
looked around. The building was right in front of him. The
monk man sure didn't let his gift go to his head; this was a
very old part of the neighborhood, and very poor. He
wondered why this guy would live so inconspicuously and yet
hand out a calling card randomly on the subway. Then again,
he might have known something Tom didn't. He marched slowly
towards the house, with a tingling anxiety slowly developing
in his body. He suddenly realized his hands were shaking,
and stuffed them into his pants pockets. The card Jim had
given him said the man lived on the seventh floor. That was
the highest floor of this building and by the looks of it
there was no elevator. Tom didn't mind, he barely gave it a
second thought. He'd run a hundred miles to get to this guy.
It was odd that he didn't have to. These sorts of things
aren't usually so easy to come by, real or fake. He didn't
know what to make of it, like so many things in life. He
just accepted it like he knew he would and found himself on
the seventh floor, facing the only door. He approached it
slowly to knock but when he tapped it gently it slid open.
It wasn't closed. He slid his head through the doorway, very
cautious and nervous. It wasn't a normal thing to have a
door unlocked, not to mention opened, in this type of
neighborhood. He half expected to see the man's blood ridden
corpse sprawled on the floor, with the killer sitting on an
armchair, resting his feet on him. But he soon saw this was
impossible; there was no armchair in the apartment. There
was no furniture at all. The wooden floor was spotless and
shiny and looked like it has never been stepped upon. The
large living room window was open and in poured a strong
white light. It decorated the floor with shapes and shadows,
and was the only light in the room.
"Uh, Hello?" Tom said, still only peaking from the doorway.
"Come in", said a voice from within. He even sounded
smiling.
Tom paced inside and had a better look at the place. There
was indeed no furniture whatsoever, and the living room
seemed to be the only one, barring a bathroom adjacent to
it.
"Nice apartment", Tom murmured aloud, still looking for the
monk man, who chuckled at Tom's remark.
"It's not an apartment, really, as I'm sure you've noticed",
he said cheerfully, "more like a resting spot until I move
on."
"So you don't live here?"
"I don't live anywhere. I am where I'm needed."
Tom's lungs felt heavy with excitement. He sure sounded like
the real deal. And no normal person would live in such a
place.
"Where are you?" Tom asked, looking around.
"Right beside you", he said, and got up from a shadowy
corner, where he was sitting.
Tom was startled for a second but was immediately calmed.
The man not only looked harmless, he looked peaceful. Tom
felt he could look at his face for ages and forget his
worries. But, of course, he couldn't do that.
"I've been waiting for you", the monk man said, and sat down
again, his back facing the window, the moonlight reflecting
off his bare scalp. His face was now laden with shadow, but
Tom could tell he was still smiling. He sat down before him
cross legged and rested his hands on his thighs.
"How can I help you?"
Tom was silent for a second; still examining the man's face,
and then he spoke. He told the story of his beloved's death,
and asked for one good reason for it. The monk man looked at
him and then nodded solemnly.
"You're here for good reasons, and I respect that. Most
people just want to know their fortune. I will gladly help
you", he said and closed his eyes.
Tom watched him as he blinked and winked and mumbled
incoherently. It frightened him a bit, but not enough to get
up and run. He was certain that he was about to learn the
truth. After a few minutes the monk man snapped out of his
trance. He looked at Tom, breathing heavily, sympathy in his
eyes.
"You were not married to this woman, you said. She was your
girlfriend", he said.
"Yeah", Tom confirmed.
"And you did not yet have sexual relations?"
Tom found it a bit personal but answered just the same, it
was obviously important. "Well, no, we hadn't. The night of
the accident, we were coming home from a play... that night
we planned to make love for the first time."
The man's eyes widened in apprehension and he nodded once
more.
"How well did you know Sandra?" he asked bluntly.
"What do you mean? We'd been dating for months!"
"Did you know everything about her past?"
"I-I suppose not."
The man nodded again and softly bit his lower lip, looking
in deep thought.
"Well, she had a boyfriend before you, were you aware of
that?"
Tom knew she had plenty boyfriends before him, he couldn't
really name any one of them.  "She had many boyfriends
before me", he said.
"Well, I assume you didn't know she had HIV. She didn't,
either."
Shock clasped tom's heart as the man spoke the words, and it
was slightly difficult for him to breathe.
"I'm sorry you had to find out like this", the man said and
put his hand on Tom's. "What God did was a good thing. He
let you have all the time you could have together, but had
to end it when you were about to make love or you'd be put
in danger. And he had to make it final. He did it to keep
you safe, Tom."
Tom heard the words but it took them a while to sink in.
That did explain it. Why she died, the one in the seatbelt
and he was spared. She would've given him a lethal disease,
she had to go or he'd have been infected by it. He was
important to God.
"What, do I become president or something? Why's it
important for me to live?" Tom asked passionately.
"I can't tell you that, it's not what I looked for. But you
must live, it is God's wish."
Tom gazed at the floor and got up with a jump. It didn't
matter why God wanted him alive, the point was he knew! He
knew information he wasn't supposed to! He was invincible!
He could do anything he wanted and survive, because that was
God's wish! Now he understood why he wasn't meant to know,
but thinking about that was irrelevant. Guilt and thoughts
of Sandra washed away like a repented sin as he turned to
walk outside. He wasn't guilty of her death, after all, and
she'd want him to be happy. And boy was he.
"Thank you! Thank you!" he yelled to the monk man as he
stumbled and ran out the door. The monk man just stared at
the doorway and smiled. Tom jumped down the steps and ran
down manically. He burst through the building door and ran
through the street. He was superman! He could do anything!
He had God's protection, and he knew it! He laughed
hysterically and waved his arms, as if flying.
"I'm invincible! I can't die!" he yelled at the people
passing him by, laughing out loud. He ran into the road,
uncaring and didn't see the pickup truck driving towards
him. In the second he lived after that he felt a searing,
stinging pain at his ribs and pelvis and felt his stomach
burst out of his body. Then he felt no more.

A shiny bald head observed the commotion not too far from
the road accident, some seven stories high.  Someone had
called the police, who were examining the scene and
collecting evidence from the crowd who gathered quickly
around them. The head sighed and turned around. That man
needed a reason and he gave it to him. It wasn't his fault
he became hysterical. It seemed like a good enough reason,
and he couldn't believe he was right about them not having
sex. That was a long shot, but it was worth it. It was the
best reason he ever came up with. It was all fitting
together nicely, beating God in his own game. The truth was
he didn't know God's ways, but after people come to him for
guidance, God knew his ways. He decided what these people
thought because they believed in him, and what they believe
makes it true. And so God has to support it. It was the
first time he'd gotten someone killed, but his reputation
would spread thanks to it and more people would come. He
might end up being responsible for all the lives in the
city! He might become an equal to God! But he didn't want to
get ahead of himself, there was still time, and he might
have to move again before those infidels from the asylum
catch up with him. They didn't and will never understand
true power and how to achieve it.
He was unique, one of a kind. Not a soul on this planet will
ever know why that man below is dead. No one except him. Him
and God.