Unfinished III.

If only she hadn’t been going too fast. It’s a small car, for Kermit’s sake. What was she thinking? Pressing on the gas pedal like it was one of those stationary bikes you find at the gym. She deserves it. The moment she knew she lost control, her hands gripped tight to the wheel, her life flashing in front of her eyes, she deserves it. No cries of pity for her. Instead they are the ones who cry; saying how selfish she was. How she was only thinking of herself at the time. Had she no thought of her future?



It was only a few seconds that the car skidded, rolled, screeched uncontrollably across the pavement; but to her it felt like an eternity. To her, it felt long enough to think of those she would’ve left behind. It was enough for her to worry that she left too many strings untied, too big a mess for them to clean up. It was more than enough for her to wonder: is it worth it to go make this people go through all this trouble for her? For her.





In that moment, she remembers all the kindness she has received, and says a silent thank you to all of them. Thank you for making me strong, thank you for making me able. Thank you for giving me experience and wisdom. Thank you for being a crutch when I was almost crippled. Thank you for listening even when I was rambling on and on about potatoes and sponges. Thank you.



It had been an ordinary day, nothing special. She wouldn’t have thought it would come to this. To suddenly realize she no longer had control, to hear the sound telling her that she was no longer on the open road, to hear cars honking as they passed by, to hear people yelling. She wasn’t sure if they were cursing her, or if they were telling her they’d get help. It didn’t matter to her then. What mattered was regaining her control.

Blank.



She checked her legs. She could feel them. She could see them. They were attached to her. She checked her head, her back, and her arms. In the distance was a shout for her to get out. Get out. Her brain was voicing it, her mouth tried to repeat it. Get out. She said it out loud to herself. Get out. But somehow she was still inside. Seat belt still on, legs still on the seat, feet still on the pedals. Get out. She tried again. But she was still there. She was still inside the car.