I woke at the sound of the impact. Dazed, I listened, eyes closed. It figures, I was moving out tomorrow morning. I would have left today but my blasted cat got out and I didn’t find him till supper time.
I’d lived here all my life. Our neighborhood had spent a lot of time talking, and pleading with the town to do something. They put up signs, they repainted lines, they gave out tickets galore. Still someone would be speeding home, somewhere, and hit our corner just too fast, usually to the sound of screeching tires, then the impact. Metal and glass, trees and people all melding together, then silence.
The trees in our yard used to run right up to the road. Over the years, the trees have receded, like an old man’s hairline, as they took out car after car. Giving their life with the life, or at the very least, the life they used to know, of the person driving the car that didn’t quite make it.
I momentarily wondered about the driver, were there passengers, was anyone alive? I knew I should get up and look, call the police, get the number plate, do something. But somehow after all these years I was just too tired to do it again. I had seen so many bodies, broken, twisted people in the remnants of steel and glass. Couldn’t seem to make myself face another time.
Then, laying there, now listening to sirens, I decided I did need to see. I needed to know, one more time. I opened my eyes, but it was pitch black. I tried to sit up, but I couldn’t move.
The car had plowed right through my house, right through my bedroom wall, and right through me. That blasted cat!