A thud, wet and sick. Pinging sounds as gravel hits the windscreen. A crack. A scream – I don’t know if the voice is real, or an echo that’s now permanently tattooed in my mind. All the noises of a world in a slow motion. Except for the radio. The music carries on at normal speed, absurdly bright. The taste of copper and ozone. I look, wanting not to see what I know I will see. Red streaks on glass. A strand of hair.
A white bubble on the screen of my phone says “Undo Typing”.
I wish I could.
Author’s notes
This is another drabble – a 100 word piece. It came about from a prompt to write something along the theme of “wish”.
the fiction phial 