Possum Massacre?

I was driving home, tired. Already it is dark outside. Traffic is light and I can actually do the speed limit of 55 on Buffalo Road. A car is coming toward me, headlights momentarily blinding me. I see something move in the road ahead and apply my brakes. Some animal is crossing the road. It steps onto the shoulder, safely out of harm's way, and I accelerate.

Suddenly, the critter turns and steps back into my lane of traffic. I can see clearly now a bloated gray body, beady eyes, a long pink tail, little paws raised like questions marks. "No. Don't do it," I think quickly, but it is too late. I cannot brake in time despite the fact that there are no cars behind me. I cannot swerve because of oncoming traffic and there isn't enough shoulder.

With a sickening thud, I hit the not-so-little possum. A jolt of nerves shoots through me, and I feel nauseous. I have slowed down, but to no avail. I creep to the next parking lot, pull in, and check my car. No blood. No dents. No sign of having just murdered one of God's innocent creatures. I am still shaking. It tears me up that I have inadvertently taken a life.

I drive back slowly, looking for the body. The least I can do is make sure it is out of the road. But there is no body. I drive past the place three times, but cannot find any gray mounds. I wonder if the poor thing managed to survive? Perhaps it crept off down the little bank and back into the woods where it was headed in the first place. I hope so. I hope it is not suffering. At least there were no babies involved. Oy.

I head for home, grateful that it wasn't a deer or a person. At least there is that.