Soft murmurs of conversation burble,

late at night,

soft, slow, and steady.

We laugh and smile quietly

as we go through the intersection.

A force slams my side

and glass shatters,

falling around

like snow in a tornado.

The crunch of metal fills the space inside my head.

Which,

just moments ago,

had been leaning against a window

chilled from the winter air,

but is now just the winter air.

I'm slammed to other side of the car,

limbs flinging like a ragdoll tossed in the air.

Despite my restraints

I land on the other side of the car,

but the crumpled door of the car is still close enough to touch.

My vision blacks,

voices and sounds swim languidly through my head.

I hear voices call my name

as I slowly come back,

lights dancing in slow motion,

a warm liquid covering my face.

They pull me out

I shiver in the night air.

My aunts massive car pulls up

as my parents rush me,

crying.

My cousins stare at me from the tinted window of their car,

faces aghast and their eyes wide.

People in white pull me into an oversized icecream truck glowing with light.

They hand me a blanket

as they examine my body for evidence of the event.

Eventually they release me,

then speak in hushed tones to those involved.

My parents come over

directing me to my aunts car,

worry creasing their faces

and causing premature wrinkles.

We ride to the hospital silently,

every intersection drawing out a flinch.

We walk into the hospital,

lite up like New York at night.

The nurse at the admittance desk glances up at me,

curiously.

Questions fill her eyes,

but her tired expression speaks of the truth she's  seen.

On this late winter night,

quick turning to day.

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