art interaction

There were sirens blaring and smoke fuming. A mother and daughter had watched as a crack opened up in the earth and cars stacked upon each other in a futile attempt at escaping. A journalist took notes on the scene to report back to his boss for a news broadcast later on that night. Only two bodies were pulled out of the wreckage—identical bodies of Frida Kahlo apparently. A piece of flesh was removed from their chests to reveal two beating hearts. The journalist mentally tried to compose himself so that he did not openly get sick in front of everyone. He had to sit down to focus on his notes.

The wreck was too spooky and specific to be just an unfortunate accident. There was a supernatural aura about the entire situation, the journalist noted after a brief interview with the mother and daughter. They told him that they were simply going on a nighttime stroll through the area when suddenly a horrific tearing noise interrupted their time together. The mother had shielded her daughter from the sight of and the actual destruction. The journalist stopped probing for further gruesome details when the mother and daughter both started getting emotional. He thanked them for their time and walked around the stacked, smashed cars and jotted down what he observed.

He remembered when he was a child growing up in Egypt how his life goal was to be a journalist. When he was older, one of the biggest newsworthy stories he captured was that of the Arab Spring. He never felt more accomplished and terrified in getting information from the inside than any story he’d covered before. The journalist knew that the wreck he saw in front of him would probably turn out to be a bigger story since whatever caused this was most likely not of this world. Or if it was, it did not follow the rules here.

He approached the two bodies of Kahlo with a sense of reverence and confusion, partly due to the blaring siren. The still beating hearts frightened him but still he made himself look. He owed the story that much. Besides the bodies, there was something else that didn’t quite click with the whole situation. There was no other signs of life besides the mother, the daughter, and himself. There were no police cars or firetrucks or vehicles of other witnesses.

Where was the blaring siren coming from?

The journalist snapped his head and quickly scanned his surroundings. How did he know to come here? He couldn’t recall driving here. His car was nowhere nearby. Furthermore, he had a day off today. Why was he investigating when it wasn’t his story to cover? He turned around and jumped a little when he saw the girl run over to him.

He backed away slowly. She was begging him to pick her up and comfort her. The journalist incessantly and politely refused despite the small guilt he felt. He kept backing away until he felt intense heat on his back. He heard a loud boom coming from behind him but he didn’t fully process it in his mind. The screams and cries of the unprotected little girl seared into his memory. He heard more booms behind him. He saw the mother grab her daughter and rush her far away from here. The daughter looked at him one last time from over her mother’s shoulder.

The journalist lied face down on the asphalt before forcing himself to flee. He checked around for his notepad to no avail; any evidence of this whole scene was gone. Cars were falling into the crack, which ever so slowly began to close. The bodies were lost in the fire. The siren blared louder than the chaos before him.

A bright light flooded his vision.

Muffled voices surrounded him.

The siren still blared.

As soon as he could see clearly, the journalist made out paramedics and police officers.

They lifted him into the ambulance.

“Relax, sir. You have a major injury on the side of your head. Have you been around any hot environments this evening?” asked a young paramedic.

“Don’t probe him with questions. Let him rest. Besides, there’s nothing around here that could hurt him like this,” advised another paramedic, seemingly older.

“So this is where the siren came from,” whispered the journalist before falling asleep.