The Detour

It all started upside down. The interior of the car appeared in a gradual haze, like tuning rabbit ears on an old TV. My mouth tasted like metal and my jaw was agape, hurting. When I tried to let out a groan, it came out as a croak. My eyes focused on what looked like the letters “OhI” in the cracked speedometer.

“Oh. Hi?” I whispered.

The tinny sound of a distant whine elevated slowly behind me. There was an incredible pressure across my chest and abdomen. I felt dizzy and coughed a wet cough. Sharp pains stabbed at my left thigh. The whine grew rapidly louder and nearer, now with a whooping quality.

My thoughts jarred out of their muddled state. “OhI” was 140 kilometers per hour. I was upside down, strapped in to my wrecked civic, probably with a wrecked jaw. Before losing consciousness, I swerved to avoid a man on the road and hit loose gravel on the shoulder. I slid down an embankment, crashed through a fence, then spun down a rocky hill.

Forgive me. I needed money. No one was supposed to get hurt.

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