The car was red.

He remembered that much.

A little red station wagon, with a little girl in the backseat. She had ribbons in her hair.

The light was red, too. That meant something. Something… important. He couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t he remember?!

Breath. One, two.

Pain. He could see red. Red car. Red light. Red blood.


The little girl. Ribbons. The ribbons were white, right? Why did he remember red?

The call. He was a busy man. If he couldn’t multitask, nothing would ever get done. Lots of people use cells while driving. It’s not that dangerous. It was his wife. Red. Anger.

He was a busy man. He couldn’t drop everything for her. Other people needed him. Why couldn’t she see that?

The red station wagon. He was too fast. The little girl. The white ribbons. Why were they red?

Unbidden, the thought invaded his mind like a sickening miasma. Blood makes things red.

And she hit her head–

In a hospital room, a red light is flashing. A man sits on the bed, sobbing.

I killed the little girl.

Red roses at a funeral.


And a woman grieves for her child.

Categories: Snapshots | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Post navigation

What do YOU think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

Blog at

%d bloggers like this: