It was a horrible sight, something not anyone could stomach. The cyclist was bleeding profusely while a few passers-by rushed to his aid. His bicycle lay about a couple of yards away from him, a tangled mess. A bespectacled man picked up his phone and called for the ambulance.
The motorist stepped out of his car and stared at the cyclist. He looked distraught. The dent on his car bonnet did not matter to him at that moment. Then he started uttering, “Sorry, sorry…” as he went on his knees. The traffic around him had almost come to a standstill. I could hear people shouting and cars honking.
I was more than overwhelmed by what I was looking at. I stood rooted to the ground, at a loss for words and actions. Seconds later, I felt sick and started throwing out my lunch on the pavement. How could this have happened, I kept asking myself. My body felt much better after the vomit, but my mind was not.
I looked at the hapless cyclist again. He had lost consciousness. He was already soaked in blood. The people around him hollered at him, but he was that much closer to death. I began crying for him. He was someone’s son for sure, and could be another person’s husband or even a father. I sat by the pavement, head in my hands.
Before I could recover, the blaring of the ambulance siren crowded out the surrounding noise. I lifted my head, eyes in tears. The paramedics rushed out from the ambulance with a stretcher and their equipment. They were calm and collected despite the urgent circumstance. Police officers had also arrived at the scene, and they had cordoned off the area. The road was now partially blocked, with a long row of cars in the next lane.
As the wounded cyclist was carried onto the stretcher, the motorist was taken aside by a police officer. He was visibly shaken. Then, my head felt heavy again. I lowered my head between my legs and closed my eyes. I was attempting to shut out all these mess from my mind.
It felt like eternity, but I was not sure how long I sat there. Someone tapped me on my shoulders. I looked up and saw a police officer. He asked me if I needed help. I glanced around and realised that the accident scene had been cleared. I stood up feebly and told him I was fine. He smiled at me and began walking away.
Just before he got into the patrol car, I opened my mouth and spoke, “Officer, which hospital have they taken the cyclist to?”