Back to Work

The week after Christmas the weather was still mild, showing little signs of winter. The night sky was crystal clear, reflecting the usual condition of roads during the night time. Twenty minutes into the drive, we heard the scanner announce a crash on Erin Center Blvd, the location  near our old house. While driving, we caught a glimpse of the fire truck making a left turn onto the main street with its flashing red sirens that warned pedestrians of its approach. Since we were minutes behind the fire truck, arriving at the scene was as hectic as ever. The flop-sided car was not surrounded by a role of yellow tape, but by numerous ambulances, firs trucks, and police cars as barriers. The scene started to become packed with curious neighbours with shocked nad concerned faces. The impact of the accident left the car toppled on its side with giant skids marks following the trace of the tires. My camera lens captured a crowd of figures dressed in yellow and black uniforms struggling to pull the victims from the car. A few minutes in, everyone stopped what they were doing. The accident was pronounced as being two fatals. The police officers tapped the area, and asked everyone to step back. When we left the scene, my face showed signs of distress and frustration. My head was still processing the raw images of the scene. Dad stopped walking and slowly assured me that there was nothing I could have done to prevent that accident because it already happened, and nothing could change it. It is our work to cover stories, not prevent them. He said he understands the sadness, but it is also the work we have to do. If every story made us sad, our life would be in a constant state of depression. After I heard him talk, the shock became less intense. We can only hope that drivers are more careful on roads so that similar events like these do not happen. We given our condolences to the victims and families involved in the crash.