written: WE12021987.2106(D4) entered: MO07021990.2004-SP A Typical Car Crash On Main Street, USA "Hey, that guy just piled his car into that building!" "Wow, let's go look." A crowd of thrillseekers converge on the site of the wreck. No one goes to call for help. "Ooh, what a mess!" "Her mother's really going to flip," one onlooker comments, pointing to the blood soaking into the torn and gashed white sweater from the throat of the girl flopping out of the door. "She'll never get that stain out." "Hey, look at his neck! He's gonna have one stiff neck tomorrow morning ... and a headache ...," muttered one of the newly arriving spectators, noting the oddly beautiful position of the boy's neck curving gracefully, sideways, through the dashboard, and ignoring the steering wheel shaft protruding from his back. "I thought newer cars were made so you couldn't be impaled by the steering shaft," accused one girl. "Well, don't look at me," her boyfriend said. "i didn't build the bleedin' car!" "Yo, Steve! I want that watch!" shouted a man, dashing over and working on appropriating the sundry pieces of jewelry from the driver and passenger. "Yeah, and I need a new car stereo," rationalized another onlooker as she proceeded to disconnect the expensive audio system from the surrounding messy pile of scrap metal and flesh and cloth. "See, Laura! I told you I knew how to screw-up a car's braking system. That'll teach Jack to show off his fancy, shmancy red sports car ..." "Yeah," her neighbor wryly commented. "Especially if you're not his passenger to also be shown off," he muttered under his breath. "I feel like a smoke," one junior-high student interjected. "Anyone have a match?" After lighting up, she was about to shake it out, but stopped and stared first at it, then her gaze travelled to the wreck, in its spreading lake of gasoline and oil, and back to the match. "Hey, Jen, you aren't going to do what I think you are, are you?" spluttered one of Jen's friends. "It'll go up and kill them." "Ah, they're dead already," Jen said calmly as she tossed the flaming match. As everyone dove for cover, the match landed in the pool of combustibles, spluttered for a moment. The car erupted in flame and debris. "Ooh, look at them burn!" shouted Jen gleefully. "Anyone for hot dogs and marshmallows?" "I think I'm going to be sick," a strained voice was heard to whisper, as many didn't bother saying anything and just ... did. From the back of the crowd, a disturbed mind began to softly sing, off-key. "Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Meyer weiner ..." (C) Aerie Productions 1987 Ver. 1 Rev. 1 WE12021987.2106(D4)