Glass never bends

I don’t remember much.
Where I was, how I got there, gone. I can vaguely recall the sensation of wet. Not like a spilled drink, more like a flood, more like drowning. I think I died.

I do remember everything after waking up, so I guess that’s a good sign. The hospital room, the photos of the crumpled car. He was trying to tell me why I crashed, Luke, the guy I was with. He looked so sad when I didn’t recognize him. It only took me a minute to get the name back, just a minute, but those 60 seconds hurt.
He said there was something that startled me, something made me jerk the wheel, and the guardrail just happened to be there.

I don’t remember what I saw first. I do remember the flash.

It was off in the distance, like lightning, only different. Wider maybe? I don’t know how I knew or what I knew, but it was wrong. The lightning was wrong.
I saw the aerial photo of the crash site. What happened to the cars around us. The crater where we would’ve been. They said it was the first shot. They said we were lucky.

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