Mythical Creatures

zero - "accident" - prologue

accident (n.) - an unfortunate incident that happens unexpectedly and unintentionally, typically resulting in damage or injury

***

Thirty-four miles per hour.

The little gold car was driving at thirty-four miles per hour, one below the speed limit.

In the driver's seat was a man in his early thirties. He wore a look of tired disappointment. Beside him in the passenger's seat sat a young boy of twelve years old. He spoke no words, having been scolded by his father only minutes before.

The radio buzzed quietly, the white noise only adding to the thick tension. Both passengers sat, stewing in their thoughts. The boy did not believe that running in the halls was a serious offence. The man wished the school hadn't called him away from work to pick up his son.

The boy opened his mouth, ready to give an apology. He never got a chance.

***

Fifty-seven miles per hour.

The rusted red pickup was driving at fifty-seven miles per hour, twenty-two over the speed limit.

In the driver's seat was a man in his late fourties. He stared down the road with unfocused eyes. In his hand was a near-empty bottle of what was once whiskey. Beside him in the passenger's seat sat another bottle. The torn label read "vodka." It was empty, save for a few drops at the bottom.

The radio blared at the highest possible volume, but it wasn't enough to drown out the man's sorrows, nor were the drinks. He drove on, wondering what he had ever done to his wife to make her hate him so.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by the sight of a little gold car, just ahead of him. He swerved and hit the brakes, trying his hardest to avoid it, but it was too late.

***

Zero miles per hour.

The little gold car sat upside down on the road at zero miles per hour, thirty-five below the speed limit.

In the driver's seat was the man, completely still. He stared straight ahead, brown eyes blank and lifeless. His seat belt was still latched and he hung limply with his hands still on the wheel. Blood splattered the steering wheel and the dashboard and pieces of shattered glass covered every surface. Beside him in the passenger's seat, the boy sobbed and screamed for help as he tried once more to pull himself out of the car.

The radio made no sound, and never would again. Flames flickered on the box and around the car, and the boy couldn't get his leg out from the dented metal of the door. Smoke filled the air, and his hanging by the leg was making it harder and harder to breathe.

Sirens were sounding in the distance. The boy cried weakly for help one last time before he gave in and, with a final cough, let the dark that threatened to fill his vision take over.