Flash Fiction - 8
I have no idea why the phrase “die with a smile on your lips” is popping into my head now. Here I am, driving back home from work, when the phrase appears out of the blue. Maybe it was mentioned in the latest book I’ve been reading? Oh well, it doesn’t matter where the phrase came from. The fact is I’ve really never understood it. Death and smile are not two things that go together, are they? I mean, how could anyone smile when dying? Who would prefer death to life so much that death makes them happy? In any case, it’s a morbid thought that I don’t really want to be thinking about now. I try to push it out of my mind by raising the volume on the radio.
As I move my eyes back to the road, I notice this kid free himself from his mother’s hand and run right onto the middle of the road. I step hard on the brakes and feel the car going into a slide. I frantically pump the brakes and turn the steering wheel in circles as I see the concrete wall looming near. Things seem to move in slow motion as the car crashes into the wall and I am sprayed with a million glass pieces from the broken windshield. The impact knocks me out of the car, the seatbelt torn from the buckles, and I hit the ground with a thud. As I lie on the ground, blood streaming down my face, I look around to find the kid. He's being scolded by his mother and he’s crying. But he's unhurt. As my eyes close, I finally understand. And I smile.