A flare, like a blinding flashlight, shines at the fore
Puddles of deep crimson crawl laterally — as if that bright dot was the wound
At the periphery, all the hues of bruising — indigo to a shade of purple indistinguishable from black
The colors tuned up by the heat of inflammation felt — but not seen — in the cold view of one beaten to the edge of life
As well as, by the harsh lighting — blues and reds dancing from lightbars and wig-wags of police cars and fire trucks — shining over the carnage.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 
Excellent.
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I loved the last couple of lines. I can imagine the blues and reds from the light bard dancing over the carnage. i thought wig-wags was the perfect word choice.
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Why dancing over the carnage? Looking for an answer.
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Continuing the metaphor. The deep reds being the carnage and the blue lights playing over makes purples and darker hues.
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