I stand in the street with heavy eyes. My breath comes in shallow spaced out intervals. My clothes are ripped and torn. I am smeared in fresh blood. The smell penetrates my nostrils. I feel everything and nothing all at once. Metal is strewn and twisted all about the road. The heat from the fire reaches me where I stand and licks at my skin. The putrid odor of burning objects permeates the air. Rubber. Metal. Gasoline.
Hair.
Flesh.
Life.
Blink.

I am surrounded by people. Someone has put a blanket around me. Hoses controlled by men in yellow suits threaten to smother the fire. It will not yield. A hand grasps mine tightly, It's thumb rubbing over my skin. A paremedic screams questions in my face. What happened? Who else was in the car? How did I get out? Am I hurt?
Am I hurt?
Am I hurt?
Am I hurt?
Am I?
Blink

It is daylight. I am wearing fresh clothes. I am clean of blood. I am healed of body but scarred of mind. My thoughts always pressing on the things I fear.
My fault.
My fault.
My fault.

I hear an approaching car beside me. It doesn't slow. They must be texting. Do people learn? My heart beats in my chest. My pulse pumps in my wrist, my neck, my fingers. Blood flows through my veins. What a waste. The sound of tires on gravel gets cloer and closer, showing no signs of deceleration.
One small step to the right.
Screeching tires.
Screaming voices.
More blood.
Blink.