“Echoes”
By Molly Briggs, Tied for 1st Place, Fiction
“Thud”
I can still hear it. The thud of a body hitting my windshield. But it wasn’t my fault.
…
It was dark, rainy. My hands gripped the steering wheel, my heartbeat pulsing in my palms. The windshield wipers moved back and forth twice as fast as my heart was pumping blood. The sound of rain hitting the roof of my car resonated around me. The trees sped past me on either side in blurs of darkness.
Then, suddenly, a thud. A woman’s face pressed against my windshield for half a heartbeat. Her eyes open, as she slid across to the driver’s side and onto the pavement. I slammed my breaks and skidded to a stop. Everything around me seemed to stop too. I stared at my hands that gripped the steering wheel harder than they had before. It wasn’t my fault.
The thud replayed over and over in my head. Getting louder and louder each time. Thud. I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw the woman lying on her side, her face illuminated by the red brake lights of my car. Her eyes still open. Thud. My gaze darted back to my steering wheel. Thud. It wasn’t my fault.
“It’s okay. She’s okay,” I whispered to myself, closing my eyes. Thud.
I needed to go out and check on her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to. Thud. I opened my eyes and glanced through my windshield. The woman’s face appeared behind the glass that had been cracked. Thud. Her eyes peered through the broken glass. I closed my eyes again to make her disappear. But she was still behind me. Thud. I could feel her open eyes watching me. It wasn’t my fault.
Headlights glowed in the rear-view mirror, getting brighter and brighter. Thud. The car slowed down before stopping near the woman’s body. A man with a baseball cap stepped out of the car. Thud. He started waving his arm in my direction. His mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Thud. He knelt beside the woman and checked for a pulse. He stood and started jogging towards me, still waving. Thud. It wasn’t my fault.
“Hey!” he shouted; his voice sounded muffled from inside my car. Thud.
My gaze shifted to the cracked glass in front of me. He stood next to the driver’s side window and tapped on the glass. Thud. Half of his face was illuminated by his headlights and the rain glistened on his cheeks. He tapped the glass again, more insistently this time. Thud. It wasn’t my fault.
I pressed the gas and watched him get smaller and smaller in the rear-view mirror. I didn’t stop until I couldn’t see him anymore.
I eased my foot off the pedal slowly as tears started welling in my eyes.
Thud.
It wasn’t my fault.
Thud.
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