The sound she made when the truck pulled in front of us.
The sound of tires, squealing and chattering on the pavement.
The sound of metal, hot, twisting, bending and folding.
The sound of the emergency siren wailing in the distance.
The sound of the silent word she mouthed as she watched me go.
The sound I made last as I left this temporal plane.
Place 3rd in a prompt round of a defunct contest.