L. T. THOMAS.

Forty-Five Minutes Later…

I find myself standing right outside a small local pharmacy as another minute rolls by.

I’ve been out here for half an hour now, but it feels like forever.

And I’m still shaking.

Badly.

Really badly.

The grotesque image of that merman getting crushed by a speeding truck like a bug just keeps replaying itself in my head; the sounds and smells and colors of his death still fresh and vivid in my mind, as if I’m reliving the disturbing event all over again.

I ran away from the site of the incident as soon as I could stop screaming and force my limp legs to move. In no time at all, the police, several news crews, and people from all over the city had gathered around the scene.

I continue to pace the sidewalk, trembling as I fight off the horrific memory.