Murder on Union Avenue

I saw it with my own eyes. I could hardly believe it. It was evening, about nine pm, and very dark. I was coming home from the library late shift. He ran right out into the road without looking, and the car in front of me hit him. I watched horrified as he smacked into the back left tire and bounced neatly backwards, the breath knocked out of him. He seemed only stunned, except that I knew the impact was too much to survive. The only sound had been a quiet little bump. No time for anything else. One minute he was racing across the street, the next minute he was lying on the yellow median lines, eyes vacant, not breathing.

There was no blood or guts splattered about. The body was intact. The SUV slowed and pulled into the apartment complex drive, hesitating, unsure. I had slammed on the brakes, and sat in the turn lane, waiting to see what the driver would do. We both looked at the dead body, and I was struck by the blackness of the circles around his eyes, the softness of the rings on his tail. Poor little raccoon. He would steal no more from any garbage cans or dumpsters. His days were done.

The car that had hit him pulled slowly from the drive and continued on his way. I pulled into the drive and wobbled my way over the speed bumps, reflecting on the unpredictable and fine line between life and death. It was sobering, even though it was only a raccoon. Life is so fragile. I breathed a prayer of thanksgiving, gathered up my backpack and purse, and climbed the steps to my apartment. Onward to more productive things like making dinner. I wondered briefly if raccoon tastes like chicken, then dismissed the thought as silly. Tonight is baked potato night anyway.