Road Rage
Road Rage car accident stories
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missypoetic
missypoetic Poetry and Short Stories! :)
Autoplay OFF   •   2 years ago
A hit-and-run I witnessed, a real-life experience.

Road Rage

I sat at a stoplight while listening to a random radio station. The song provided a sense of idealism about relationships, nothing new to the standard American girl.

It is dull and overused much like this car I drive. I am mobile myself, considering the amount of time that has dragged on in my life.

Perhaps, like this car, I am too becoming rusty; referred to as a person who old and selfish.

Not so different, as I can still blend in with other cars. Though, my model may appear the same as another car. The internal structures are what make me run differently.

Often, my days rotate in a repeatable pattern of a straight line to work. A steady life that runs its smooth path but my skin becomes more coarse with each day.

A peek into the mirror that dangles above me tauntingly. My baggy eyes reflect in the rearview mirror match the pavement after it pours.

Nothing new in this area of expertise. Driving is as mechanical as the car can be. This red light stains my peripherals with its steadfast persistence.

I swear it would blink slowly, or perhaps that is how it appears when I close my eyes for a second. A song switches on the stereo to one I recognize as Imagine by John Lennon.

'Imagine all the people,' he demands breathily as if the lyric will disappear among them. Subconsciously, I suppose my gaze finally drifts from the red dot to the other cars.

A person laughs, others sang, and a person in a car which sits in front of mine quavers in his seat. As a bright green car interrupts his chorus with a screech.

Metal scraps fly to the sky, pretending to be an airplane. The green car interrupts the song playing as it backs away in a panic.

The person inside could only be described as guilty as they run away with their tail between their legs.

I could only wish this was a dream, Lennon, as I stare at the car in front of me; caved in with the weight of another's sin.

The person inside the bashed car was laying prone on the steering wheel. Smoke filters out of his car.

Green. Green filters in again as if the car was still there but I realize the stoplight ultimately changed. 'Go' , it beckons, trying to coax me out of this seat.

I reach down to open the car door and do so. My legs were weak; were my nerves still there? I steel them down and slide out of my car door in a hurry.

People were already gathering but no one approached the car with the person inside. Sucking in a breath, I rush over to him as concern smothers me.

No one will address this man, I shall do it for them. Confidence was new, never had it before.

Never have I seen a man's face so crimson either.

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