We've been here a while now, me and the other man. He's already wasted his breath on apologies and now we just sit in our crumpled cars waiting for someone to realise we're still down here. You'd think skid marks and a broken railing would be enough of a giveaway but so far it's just us.
It's getting to the point where I feel like I've forgiven him for not noticing the black ice and skidding right into me, sending us both careening off the edge to our respective slow and brutal deaths. Lucky asshole died first from a tree branch at just the right angle to pierce the windscreen and his skull. I was left a few feet away, screaming for help til I passed out and woke up a ghost.
I keep saying we should try and stand on the road like those old stories about women in white gowns scaring drivers but he says something about the road doesn't feel safe anymore. I haven't forgiven him enough to trust a damned thing out of his mouth so I take it upon myself to head up to the road and stir up attention - see if a decent burial will set us free.
Now that I'm up here I'm frozen, staring at every car that passes through me and feeling like every time it happens something is taken away from me. Maybe I had a family before I started driving up here. Maybe I was on my way home. Maybe there's nobody waiting for me at all.
Maybe this next car will finally be the end of me.
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