I awoke.

My lungs gasped for air.

Pain everywhere.

I couldn’t think for the pain.

Aches, stabbings, stingings, all kinds of pain.

Pain, pain, fucking PAIN.

Breathing harsh, quick breaths in and out of the icy air—

(smoking imaginary cigarettes, passing them to my school chums)

—I looked to my right.

The 4×4 had left deep grooves in the road from where it had screeched to a standstill. The male driver—

(a man with glass in his face soundlessly screamed)

—was visibly shaken.

Then it hit me. A painless, but nonetheless heartstopping, metaphorical realisation hit me this time.

The pile-up hadn’t happened yet.

I still had time.

But how much?

With a loud gasp and grunt of pain, I lifted my wrist to check my watch.

9:23pm.

That meant I still had 41 minutes before the pile-up!

Except…I didn’t.

I had interfered with the course of events.

I had messed things up…again.

But now, it was on a much larger scale.

And it was at that moment that the lorry collided with the immobile 4×4...