Rewind.
The little girl lies peacefully on her bed of tarmac, a ruby red pillow cradling her head. With her eyes still closed, she sucks the blood slowly back into her mouth.
Now her shattered legs become whole. The shards of glass embedded in them fly out, like crystal butterflies, and become your headlights once more. She leaps up gracefully from the road, and now she is a broken ballerina, twirling and twisting in mid-air. She travels five full metres, and lands on her two feet, her scattered schoolbooks falling neatly back into her satchel. The sudden fear in her eyes fades. And as you stop to let her cross safely, she smiles at you, almost as if you haven't just killed her.




