"Stop!" Eliza screamed, her father's breaks echoing the sound with a piercing screech several pitches higher. Eliza had covered her eyes and flung her head back against the seat as she saw the deer dart in front of the car. Inertia laughed at Eliza and flung her against the dash. Her thoughts felt fuzzy.
"Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop," the words echoed in her mind, the chorus to a tune of tragedy that had already been sung. Her fingers shook pitifully but would not move from her eyes.
She didn't need to see. There was too much evidence of what had happened as it was. There was the thud as the massive body of the deer collided with the hood of the Pontiac and and the shatter of glass as it's antlers and sheer weight broke the windshield. There were the cuts along Eliza's wrist where the glass has burried itself in her exposed skin; the area where her thick wool coat, just slightly too small, could not reach when she bent her arm.
Very slowly, like fox pups leaving the den for the first time, Eliza's hands allowed her a view of the wreckage. The crystal clear, icy cold clarity of unshed teardrops sharpened her vision. Eliza's eyes, light blue like the clear December sky, grazed over her father's unconcious body and across the carcass of the deer, it's legs splayed over the hood. Eliza swallowed and briefly pondered why she would choose to call the deer a carcass.
Her father's head was resting at a funny angle. Would he not be considered a carcass as well? Her breathing was slow and determined. She opened the car door and vomited.
Being nineteen, shocked, and alone, she stepped out of the car and numbly dialed three digits to come to her rescue. It was all she could do not to look back as she pressed the unsuspecting numbers of the cellphone's silver keypad.