One day, I think this was the spring I turned eight, I was in the Ford Maverick with my dad on a rural road near my hometown. He slowed the car as we came upon a fresh single car accident where a guy had lost control and skidded off the road into a pole, bringing a live wire down onto his car.
The man had then tried to get out of his car and been electrocuted. When we stopped the guy was lying on the pavement near a mess of wires. He was badly burnt from his clothes catching fire. Parts of him were charred. He was a goner even though he was still lying there moving a little. The air stank like burnt cork and rubber, cooked liver, and that fishy electrical fire smell. My dad told me to sit in the car while he flagged someone down to go phone for help. I sat in the passenger seat and cried and watched the man die.
I think about it now and I wonder if there was any way to save him, but there were live wires all around so we had to stay away. Don't fuck with live wires, kid. Lesson indelibly learned.