They tried an hour to revive him, but the rain fell like an empire, like some whole world had tipped on its side and spilled into ours. We didn’t hit him. We hit the people who hit him, their car. Who’s going to pay for this, he asked. We’re going to miss the show, she said. The paramedics pushed on his chest and breathed into his mouth. He died right there in a puddle, raindrops breaking like eggs against his open eyes. The man who hit him asked How long will this take? My wife put her dollar back in her purse. The rain had shredded the cardboard sign he’d been holding, so in pieces it rushed off across the street and into the river.
Ryan Havely earned an MFA from Minnesota State after a BA from Ohio University. He worked as a college professor for a decade before selling his soul and jumping into marketing. His work is found in Pebble Lake Review, Midwestern Gothic, Mainstreet Rag, and others.