Bucket

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two leaves wrestle and hover close to the ground wildly  fighting their way out of the shadow and dirt into the side of a rain drenched highway and up into the wind. They fall violently back down in a gust of passing cars then dance and scrape a path along the cement through speeding cars, over yellow dotted line, over the reflection of flashing blue lights mirrored in the puddles, through a  pair of black shoes a set of legs wearing black pants, under a fire truck and into a crowd of more legs and shoes, coming to rest and pressing themselves against a bloody torso just as the the hand wearing a rubber glove had raised the sheet.

Muffled voices seem to fill the bucket that lay roughly about 100 feet away and the shadow that safely held that bucket and its contents intermittently lit up with the reflected light coming from the steady stream of rubbernecking traffic did nothing but overemphasize the gruesome details of what must have happened to the poor soul that had been riding that twisted and mangled steaming heap of metal that used to be a Harley Davidson.

from the top of the bucket you could see a tuft of long black hair lifting gently in the breeze as if it were adorned on the head of a young handsome man innocently bantering with a young attractive woman, sipping coffee at a an outdoor caffe, cocking his head in coyness, bathed by the sun.

The flashes of light spilled into the bucket and melted into the open eye of the severed head that was once Tobias BlackElk. The light itself seemed to swirl and stay, bathing the inside and outside of the bucket, defining with ambient occlusion the heap of mangled flesh and bone that had been placed inside of it.

The voices that had belonged to the panted legs grew stronger and the sound of siren, emergency dispatch and distant traffic became more distinct. A final flash of wet light danced across the sclera of Tobias's eye then quickly fell into sackcloth void as an emergency blanket was thrown over the bucket.

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