Page 2 of Pretty Thing

It’s dark outside but strangely lit up. Maybe I’ve been abducted by aliens.

A sudden, deep rumble comes from my left, and I look out my window. It’s somehow still intact, and I watch a car burst into flames. The whoosh of ignition is louder than anything else.

Oh my God.

The people inside try to get out. Hands are pounding on the glass. The woman in the driver’s seat presses her shoulder to the door. Her eyes are desperate when they meet mine.

“Hurry, get out,” I yell.

She gets her door open and stumbles out, only to be engulfed in the flames chasing her.

The woman scrambles in circles, arms flailing. It is the most horrifying thing I’ve ever witnessed. Her agonized screams claw at my heart and hurt my ears. Our eyes lock, and she mouths, “Help me,” before she collapses forward and falls still.

This is not real. This is not happening.

Someone else is yelling, but I can’t tell from where. Another scream cuts off abruptly after a squeal and a loud bang.

The adrenaline in my system clears away some of the fuzzy sensation, but I can’t shake the feeling that this must be just a nightmare. It has to be.

But the nausea and the bone sticking out of my arm prove otherwise.

Everything around me has gone eerily quiet other than a soft ticking like a turn signal stuck on, but it’s no more comforting than the sound of metal crunching.

It’s so hard to draw a breath.

The air is thick with smoke, gasoline, and burning rubber. The windshield has been reduced to a spiderweb of cracks. The dashboard is crushed inward, and something red taints the interior, like a can of paint exploded.

“Mom?” My voice cracks. “Dad?”

No response.

“Mom, Dad?” The words sound wrong. “Dad, can you hear me?”

Nothing. They don’t respond or move. There is just…nothing.

“Ow…” I groan as I unclip the seatbelt and set myself free. It hits my broken arm, and I immediately vomit again. I can’t think about the fact that I’m stepping in it or the putrid smell assaulting my nose.

Tick, tick. Tick, tick. Tick, tick.

“Stop ticking!”

It doesn’t stop.

White-hot pain tears through my side when I try to move, stealing my breath. My head rings with a high-pitched whine that drowns out everything else. I wipe the puke from my mouth, and my hand is streaked with…blood.

My eyes lift to my parents. Mom hangs limp against her seatbelt, hair falling loose around her face. Dad’s head is bowed, resting on the bright red airbag. A jagged piece of metal is sticking through the windshield and into his chest.

“Dad, please,” I whisper. “Dad, please wake up.”

Nothing.

Trying to move is like pushing through quicksand. My limbs don’t want to work properly as I slide to the middle of the seat. Finally making it, I reach over and shake my mom. Her hair shifts, but she doesn’t make a sound. I do the same to my dad, and only silence greets me.

“I need to get help.”

I don’t want to go out my door where the woman is still burning, but the other side is crushed in. I try pushing on it anyway, but it’s useless. It won’t budge.

“This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. Dad, wake up.”