Sarah Z. Creates

I’m working from “A Writer’s Book of Days,” a book I’ve had for years but whose prompts I never get bored of.

My eyes glanced down, just for a second – so automatic, that reaction to the ding of a notification.

But by the time I looked back up, it was too late.

I remember that horrible sinking sensation, knowing I couldn’t stop in time, more than I remember the crash. That’s what wakes me up at night, gagging and clammy. I don’t remember the noise or the pain, but I remember the realization of my mistake.