The Split Second of Impact

You look right, then left, and press lightly on the accelerator as you let up on the clutch. It came from nowhere. The forest green jeep is frozen in front of you. You notice every detail about the vehicle – the light brown pinstripes, the rust spots under the side mirror, the orange sun reflecting off the windscreen. Time is suspended, just so you can see the world as perfect one last time. And….

You’re hit.

Things move a bit faster now, as the weightlessness of being outside time ends. Air hisses past your ears, repressurizing the three other dimensions. Sound catches up to light. The car moves of its own volition, and you’re helpless, dragged along by the sudden remembrance of the laws of physics.

And you stop.

The clock on the dashboard still works, clicking away the seconds. Reality resurfaces. Music still plays on the radio; the indicator still flashes; you exhale. The engine is quiet. Ripped.

You, though.

You.

You are all right.

The car is dead.

You can cry now.

January 1994. I miss that car.