The watch stopped. 8:44 a.m. Where am I at 8:44? I was going somewhere, doing something. But now it’s stopped. And not just the watch I’m afraid. Time is standing still. I scream as I inch forward. Time is not still but moving slower than it ever has before.
The car is stopped, but the pieces are still moving. I wear metal and glass as the hissing grows louder. I close my eyes. Whatever is happening doesn’t matter. Wherever I was going doesn’t matter. Breathing matters. I try to suck in the air. The airbag so forcefully knocked the oxygen from my lungs. My neck burns from the seatbelt, my head pounds. The only thing I can think is “Will someone please turn off that siren?”