I was driving home from Indiana last weekend with my boyfriend’s mom when suddenly, two vehicles ahead, a car veered a sharp right and zoomed off the road.
It plowed down the ditch, up the ditch and across a plain of grass until it smashed into a tree.
In just seconds, the car had reached its final destination, yet the wheels were still spinning.
A young woman, a middle-aged man–they jumped out of their vehicles and sprinted through the ditch and across the grass. They tried to yank open the car door, but it was locked. They pounded on the windows, again and again, fists hitting glass hopelessly.
No one answered, but the tires kept circling, around and around and around.
It’s late on a rainy Monday night, and I should be going to bed.
Instead, my mind is living in that fantastical (and absolutely crazy) third-eye place, where it narrates my thoughts as though I were…
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