This Story

(3, 2, 1.)

You woke up irritated. You just had one of the worst dreams of your life. It was about that girl with the golden hair. Again. For the thousandth time.

You just can't seem to forget about her. Ever since that day fifteen years ago, she was burned into your mind. You forgot what she did to you, but you still remember her. Why?

Your clock ticks in the background while you get ready for your average job. You worked at a sponge factory. Again, really average.

Your car was neatly parked next to a rusty old truck from the 70s. Your car had cup holders. That person's truck didn't. That automatically means that your car is better. Oh, and it was electric. You slid into the driver's seat, ready for the day that was ahead.

The rumble of the highway was relaxing. Too relaxing. Way too relaxing.

A flash of light appears in front of you. It was blindingly bright; to the point where you lost control of your car and crashed into the nearest ditch.