Flash

We're on the way to the 99 cent store so we could buy another sand castle pail.
Christine was still getting sick in the back seat.
It was all over her shoes.
I think being in the car was just making everything worse for her.
"Speed up!" Phil is saying.
I don't want to, but I do it anyways.
A silver acura is coming our way.
A couple, maybe in their forties is, is in the front seat.
They look happy and I find myself hoping that they are.
I see the couple, and then I see the dog.
And then they're swerving and the girl on our side of the street is screaming
"Frederick!"
The man in the car is breaking, but it's too late because he's already on the wrong side of the road, or maybe I am, it's to chaotic to tell.
Phil and Christine are screaming and yelling at me to
"Do something!"
I can barely hear them though because the screeching of tires is ringing in my ears.
All I can smell is burnt rubber.
I can, however, see the fear in the couples eyes.
Everything blurs and twists and turns and sort of fades away into one single image that burns itself into my mind.
And then it's quiet and all I can hear is the girl from the sidewalk crying and the soft, almost pathetic, whimpering of her dying dog.