It Won't Leave Me Alone

The image just won’t leave me alone.

She was lying facedown, perfectly still, on the edge of the street, in a pool of her own blood. I didn’t stop as I walked by – she was being tended to by three policemen and the paramedics were just arriving. The blood was garish and almost fake, reminding me of a child’s bright red tempera paints.

She wasn’t dirty, ragged, homeless. None of the things you would expect in a woman spotted in a pool of her own blood across the street from a corner commonly referred to as “crack alley”. Her jacket was khaki green, and contrasted with the dark pavement and bright red blood.

I walked by, but the image won’t leave me alone.

I’ve walked by that spot several times since. There’s little to indicate that someone lay there in the midst of an emergency less than a week ago. A dark, off-color stain remains on the pavement, looking more like a spill of oil from passing traffic than a remnant of the brassy blood that she lay in.

The image won’t leave me alone.