A death foretold.

I am running.

January.

Pitch-dark.

Headtorch lighting the way,

I emerge to the road.

Headlights shine

Dazzling,

A gap

I spring and cross.

My ankle twists.

I tumble

torch,

flying from my head.

Seconds that pass

Allow a car to approach.

It hasn’t seen me.

I am inert, organic

It crushes.

A flash

& all over.