Crash Quotes

“The man who had him pinned kicked him over again and pointed down at the tire. "Stay down, you little bastard, or we'll rape your mum and skin her alive." Chris clamped his hands over Michael's ears. When Dean edged the truck forwards, Tommy's eyes jumped from his face. "Mum! Mummy! Help me, Mummy! Mum!" The engine bellowed, Tommy cried, Marie screamed, Frank roared, and Chris' pulse thumped in his ears. Locked in a maniacal fit, Dean cackled at the sky, his pointy nose and gaunt face making him look like a satanic Mr. Punch. He edged forward again. As Michael fought against Chris' restraint, he eased off a little. Should he just let him go? Were the images in his mind worse than those outside? When the truck moved forward again, the thick treads of the huge tires biting into the back of Tommy's head, he squeezed tightly once more. No mind could create anything worse than that. Chris looked away too.  Tommy's scream was so shrill Chris thought all of the glass in the cul-de-sac would crack, and he fought harder against his thrashing son to keep him restrained. When he felt like he couldn't fight the boy's will any more, he let go.  Instead of looking outside, Michael fell to the floor in a ball, scuttled beneath some blankets, and covered his ears. From beneath the sheets, Chris heard his small voice singing, "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." Nudging his boy, Chris waited for him to resurface and put a finger to his lips again. They couldn't afford for the looters to hear them no matter how much it took his son away from their dark reality. The sound of a beeping horn was accompanied by Dean howling and laughing, the vehicle's engine releasing a war cry under the weight of his heavy foot. The cacophony of chaos outside got louder. Frank wailed, Marie let out louder screams, the engine roared, the horn beeped, Dean laughed, and Tommy shrieked. Looking outside again, Chris kept his eyes away from Tommy. Instead, he watched George. If there was anyone who would save them, it was him.  Crunch! Crash!  The truck dropped by six inches. Tommy stopped screaming.  When Dean cut the engine, silence settled over the cul-de-sac, spreading outwards like the thick pool of blood from Tommy's crushed head. Marie's face was locked in a silent scream. Frank slumped further and shook with inaudible sobs. The men, even the weasel with the tennis racket, stood frozen. None of them looked at the dead boy.  Turning away from the murder, Chris looked down to find Michael staring back at him. What could he say to him? Tommy was his best friend. Then, starting low like a distant air-raid siren, Marie began to wail.  After rapidly increasing in volume, it turned into a sustained and brutal cry as if she was being torn in two. Chilled”
― Michael Robertson, Crash

“The sound stopped Chris' heart. It was the tinkle of a tag swinging on a collar. It called out through the house and was accompanied by the skittering steps of two dogs running up the stairs. As if to finish off this cruel, audible narrative, two sniffing noses were pressed to the small gap beneath the airing cupboard's door. The little fuckers had found them already! Heavy footsteps ascended the stairs.  Light flooded into the cupboard. Sitting weak and helpless, Chris kept a hold of Michael and stared up at the big man who filled the doorway. It was George. Thank God. Frowning down at them, George scratched his head before closing the door. Tears rushed forwards. It had worked. It had fucking worked! Squeezing Michael's arm, Chris whispered, "I love you, Michael. So much. I love you—" The door flew open again, the second rush of light stinging Chris' sore eyes. Leaning into the tiny space, George lifted Chris to his feet, breaking the connection between father and son as Chris lost his hold on Michael's arm.  Yanking him out of the cupboard, he pushed Chris forward.”
― Michael Robertson, Crash

“Cowering in the big man's shadow, Chris watched George lift the hammer high, his jaw set like he could bite through rock. Closing his eyes, he dropped his head and let go. The sting of his warm urine bit into his thighs. Be strong, Michael. Find a way out and find a way to survive. The blinding pain of the hammer connecting with the back of his head filled every crevice of the millisecond it existed in.  A millisecond was all it took. End.”
― Michael Robertson, Crash