The crash looked quite strange, at least at first sight. Straight, deserted road, nice weather, but the little Toyota somehow had managed to ram into a roadside tree. Maybe someone had pushed the car out of the way, and then ran away. That seemed logical. Or the driver was drunk?
The hearse's chauffeur pulled out to the right, stopped and got out. It's obvious that the accident had happened minutes ago and it was his "honor" to help. His heart started pounding in his chest. He had never been in such situation before but was willing to do his best to help.
The front side of the Toyota was so crumpled that it could easily be compared with concertina. But what startled him the most was the fact that an arm was hanging in front of the bent door, the fingers curved like eagle's claws. A head was sticking out of the broken side window; young woman's head, because the hair, tangled into the corrugated doorframe, was long, pearlblond in color.
The man got closer and took out his phone, dialing 911. However he had serious doubts if an ambulance will appear soon at such a remote place.
The man was working at a funeral home and was accustomed to ugly sights but what he saw bowled him over. The girl's right eye had sprung out of its socket and was dangling on her cheek, supported only by thin thread of twisted blood vessels and nerves. The pupil was muddy, sprinkled with blood. The other eye was darting feverish glances, as if searching for something. Big strip of skin from her forehead was hanging loose, torn and frayed at the edges, over one of the exquisitely shaped eyebrows. The nose was bent to one side. It had turned into formless lump with the color of freshly grated beet. The left cheekbone was crushed, grotesquely caved in, and under the lacerated lips broken teeth were peeking. From under the hair, witch was clotted with blood, stuck up the edge of a half cut ear.
"Am I ugly?" the woman asked. Her voice was hoarse and trembling, but surprisingly strong.
"Madam, the ambulance will be here any moment, they will take care of you."
"Am I ugly?" she growled persistently. Her good eye glanced pleadingly up, meeting the man's embarrassed gaze.
"Don't worry, everything will be OK...
"What's your name?"
"Peter, I want you to answer my question, at all costs, it's important for me, clear?"
"Well ... you don't look very well.
"So ... I'm ugly! My face! Oh, my face! Something is terribly wrong, isn't it, isn't it?" I see only with my left eye, the other ... I knew it, oh dear!
"What do you mean?"
"I knew something bad would happen. My horoscope for the day was terrible. I should not have driven today, should have stayed home."
"What caused the crash?" Peter asked. He thought it would be better to carry on a conversation with the injured woman who obviously wasn't about to lose consciousness.
"The heel of my shoe got stuck into the mat at I stepped on the gas pedal instead of the brake. Then I panicked and the steering wheel slipped off my hands..."
"So you are not drunk?"
"I drink rarely, only Champaign from time to time." Despite the broken teeth and the crushed cheekbone the woman was speaking relatively clearly, with only a slight lisp. "Be honest with me. Am I ugly?"
"That's not important right now," Peter snapped, and immediately regretted having been so rude. "You are alive after all!"
"Peter, I'm a model. When I was a little girl I desperately wanted to be a model, and I became one, with great sacrifice of life. Do you have any idea how hard is for a rural girl like me to enter this business, how many men I had to sleep with to..." She moved her head a bit and turned her survived eye sharply to the right, as if trying to fix her gaze on something.
"Hey, do not move, you should not be moving at all!"
"Please, help me to turn my head to the right."
"No, no, you must not do that. And why?
"I want to see myself in the wind mirror! Please, please, please! Her living eye emitted hysterical insistence. Peter took her hand in desperate try to calm her down.
With superhuman efforts she twisted her shoulder and, as a result of that, her head swung abruptly to the right. A painful moan left her bloody lips. But her eye managed to catch a glimpse of the cracked side mirror.
"That's not me, not me! No, no, no."
"Don't look, don't look!" Peter hesitated for a moment, then knocked off the mirror with precisely measured kick. The girl let out a couple of sobs and the tear that dribbled down her bloodied cheek quickly acquired a rosy tinge. Her survived eye looked down.
"Oh, a hearse!" she said with a start. "Is that your car?"
"Yes, I work for a funeral home."
"If I die ... they will have to bury me in a closed coffin?"
'Hey, hey, what are you talking about? They will transport you to the hospital, where you will be restored to health and after that the plastic surgeons...