There it is. Rolled in the ditch, the front perfectly perpendicular to the ground. The back has snapped somewhat so it’s hanging over the ground, almost parallel. Like an upside down “L.” I’m so lucky I didn’t get hurt. I’m dumbfounded. Standing here, staring at the wreck. I was driving along, minding my own business, it’s late at night sure, maybe I was starting to loll my head a little, my eyes shutting and opening slower than normal. I was tired, sue me. That didn’t prepare me any less for the ball of flame that came flying down the street, at oncoming traffic. The bright red flash sure woke me up, and the next thing I know I’m flying into a ditch. I’m not even sure how I got out. But I’m standing here now. Pretty cold. Staring at the aftermath.

  The back of the car snaps a little, bending more, closer to the ground, and below it is a puddle, ice and mud. I see a little village down there. Surviving. I’m sure the first settlers saw the overhang as the perfect protection. The?puddle their river of nourishment. They were probably tired of roaming the countryside like nomads, and deciding to take the opportunity, set up shop. Yes, there were some skeptics, sure by the look of it that the overhang wouldn’t last forever. It was obvious just by looking at it that structurally it couldn’t hold its own weight. But damnit, they were tired, and well, if it started to look dangerous they could always pack up and leave. Fifty years later the village has grown, still cherishing the overhang for its shade. The puddle for its vast source of...everything. Plus climbing to the top of the structure provides the perfect view, visual access as far as the eye could see. Although the rate of its dissension has slowed, it keeps on bending, and eventual catastrophe is inevitable. But the village carries on. Twenty more years of peace and harmony, then, a loud crack. The village wakes up. It becomes clear to the elders that evacuation is necessary. But the village is no longer small, houses and buildings stretch from the wall of the structure out past the puddle and beyond. The citizens that live closer to the wall surely won’t make it out in time. It’s a terrible truth, but one the elders are willing to live with, considering they indeed will live.

I see all this stuff going on underneath my car, in my head. I can’t help but wonder why nobody’s come yet to assist me. Down the street I see a pub. I’ll wait there for help. 

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We’ve been driving around for a while. Taking pictures, looking at things. Heath looks at me and I know he wants to keep going. It’s late, but I’ll oblige. Truth is, I don’t have to wake up tomorrow. So why not? Earlier we were at the park. Damn cold out, windy, but so quiet. And standing in the middle, looking in all directions, seeing nothing but trees and golf flags, it felt nice. Taking pictures of benches, I asked Heath what he found so fascinating about them. He in turn asked me what wasn’t fascinating about them. I thought, what a stupid dude. But yea, I don’t have to wake up tomorrow.

We decide to head downtown, get a drink I guess. Click the camera some more. When we turn onto the familiar street, the one that leads to where we’re going, Heath’s eyes light up. Why the hell am I looking at him that I notice this? I look at what’s transfixing him. I’ll admit, it’s quite the sight. Heath stops the car, grabs the camera, dead battery. Now, he has to photograph this, so of course, we go back to his house and charge the battery. Now it’s really late. And of course, he won’t take me home till we’ve shot the fucking thing. So I wait. And that’s fine really. I don’t have to wake up tomorrow. We keep ourselves occupied. 

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After a few drinks and keeping my eye on out the window at my car, I notice two young guys walk out towards it, but then get back into their car and drive away shortly thereafter. Whatever. Another drink and I decide to go wait outside again. It’s cold. I look at my car again, the back hanging even lower than before. I see all the villagers running like madmen. Yelling, knocking each other over in panic. Some are even stupid enough to loot stores, not realizing how much time they definitely don’t have. A lot of them die. The rest convene far away, and decide the best thing to do is move on. Gather as many supplies from the wreckage as possible and head off. Find a new place to start again. My head hurts. Maybe thirty minutes go by, and the same two guys pull up again. The driver gets out, opens the back door and grabs what looks like a camera. As he gets closer I see that it is a camera. He looks at me and asks if the car in question belongs to me. I say it does. He asks if he could take a few photos of it. I look at the wreck. Why hasn’t anyone come to help me out? I see the villagers gather what they can, and slowly start to walk away from what used to be their perfect home. I look at the guy. I tell him he can take some pictures. Yea, he probably should.