If Nancy Grace Were to be Hit by a Truck

It had been a long night at the set, that fateful eve. Nancy was tired and all she wanted to do was get back home to that lonely apartment and feed her ten cats. She could see it now. Opening up several cans of  food, dishing it out to her kitties. She would throw the spoon into the sink, but then realize that she had not the energy to prepare her own dinner. Picking the spoon back up, she would just scrape the inside of the cans, eating whatever was left over.

It was how she spent many of her nights these days.

Thoughts of earlier in the evening started to flood her mind. She didn't know how much longer she could feign sympathy for the guests that appeared on her show. How many young pretty girls could go missing? It was to the point that they all looked the same and she just wanted to call them by their descriptions. Or perhaps, the circumstances that surrounded their disappearance.

"That one chick with the brunette hair that was at that party doing X a couple of nights ago... what's her name again?"

She leaned back in her chair in her small, over-cramped dressing room, and sighed.

"Consuella! Get in here and take off this make-up!"

She felt like firing someone and Consuella would do.  She would allow her the privilege of scraping the make up off of her face, first.

Everyday it was the same for Nancy. She would come in, her face would get slathered and plastered with some beige looking guck. She would have a half of tin of eyeshadow brushed over her eyelids. From there, she would go out onto the set, sit behind her desk and twist around, making sure that her "good side" was showing.  Putting the "proper amount" of anguish in her voice, she would spend the entire show that way.

Feeling only slightly better after she handed Consuella her walking papers, Nancy was ready to go home. Gathering up her things, she headed for the back door.

On the way out, she almost tripped over the janitor. He was in the way. She wanted him fired, too, but he didn't work for her.

She was still fuming as she exited backstage and started to stomp her away across the parking lot. She didn't even notice the harsh glare of the mack truck's headlights as it came barreling down on her. She glanced up in shock and awe and her arms went a-flailing.

The truck-driver panicked momentarily and started to slam on the brakes, however, over the roar of the engine, he heard a scream, and "STOP!!"

The voice was all too familiar to him. Where had he heard that voice? Its nasally twang resounded in his ears. Sudden realization struck him with a start as his eyeballs zeroed in on Nancy.

"IT'S THAT $@%#!!"

Slamming on the ACCELERATOR, he rammed the truck into her and watched as her small, yet stocky, frame flew through the air.

He watched as her body went up, as if in slow motion. Her blond hair, never moved. He was amazed by that. Even with such a force, that nest remained in place. He continued to watch as her body pounded against the asphalt, bouncing once. He swore that it must have left a dent in the concrete. Getting out of the truck, he started to run up to her and feigned horror.

"Help! Somebody call 9-1-1!"

Reaching Nancy, he leaned forward to check for any signs of life. He reached towards her and jumped back with a start when one eyelid popped open, revealing a bloodshot eyeball. Nancy's mouth began to move, but the driver couldn't hear a thing.

He moved closer. 

Her voice was a soft whisper, and hoarse. He had to place his ear nearly upon her soft, pink lips...

Finally... finally, he could hear what she was trying to say.

"Goodnight friend."

Word Count: 659