Grotesque | Tina Bishop

My friend Kelli and I were walking to our hotel down Main Street in Salt Lake City one night. It was frigid and just beginning to snow. We had underestimated the distance of our jaunt and became tired and lost. We stopped on a corner to check the street signs and get our bearings. Within moments of stopping we heard this moaning sound to the right of us. We looked and saw an older man on the ground with his hand on top of his head. We both looked closer and noticed that blood was gushing from his head. Blue, purple and white clumps of gnarled tissue from his scalp were squeezed in between the man's fingers as he tried to hold it all together. A stream of blood started to run from the man, down the sidewalk about two feet and into the ditch. We suddenly noticed a policeman running towards the man and figured that we had happened upon a horrible crime. As we ran across the street arm in arm, I mumbled to Kelli that the man looked like he had been scalped. Kelli held my arm tighter and asked, "Tina, didn't you hear the gun shot?"