There was a road right in the middle of nowhere where you would see flowers of all sorts that were usually accompanying a cross. Driving through Devil Bend at night was always dangerous and always necessary and nearly always took the lives of others.

A hill sat right at the turn, one in which was then covered in glass as a distant sound of a car alarm pierced through the night skies as lights--blue and red--flashed continuously and the hum of urgent voices overtook the peacful sounds of the crickets.

A man was sprawled out on the concrete, his blue eyes closed and the phone he had been texting on a few feet away from him with a shattered screen. His last message still blinking, begging to be finished.

'I don-'

A woman sat in the passenger seat of an old car with her immensely dark eyes glossed over, having hit the steering wheel and was dead on impact. Her curls had fallen in her face once more, helping to hide the gruesome injuries her once soft features now held.

A boy cried in the backseat drifting in and out of consciousness as a man called to the others about finding a survivor as he whispered soothing words to the boy in the back of the woman's car as he helped him out. His arm was broken in three places; he had a minor concussion.

There was a cost for the man's reckless act. And there it was bright as the waning moon above, Devil Bend's two newest crosses.