Frozen time [TW: graphic descriptions of injury, death, and a car accident]

The aux cord plays the song she's had on a loop in her mind for days, and she hums along, half-listening. The sound is starting to become familiar, the lyrics quickly jumping to mind

- she memorizes lyrics quickly, though she can never sing them on demand. How many times has she listened to this today, she wonders vaguely as she approaches the roundabout. The song is dull, now. She glances down, finger poised to skip, but not yet, first she has to make it around the curve to the exit, and then -

He and his friend are half-laughing as they drive, happily complaining about the assignment they'd been working on for the last three hours, but it's 9 PM now, time to relax. His friend slaps his arm in response to his last gripe, head thrown back. His friend laughs loudly, a barking laugh with a perfect three-three ratio of silence to sound, and he laughs along, his own amusement a run-on line, no pauses. He shakes off his distraction as his friend continues to laugh, the sound still filling the jeep as he approaches the roundabout -

Stop.

Rewind.

The rain on the warm summer pavement gleams with the lengthened strands of reflected lights. The roundabout is ahead, and she's driven it hundreds of times, it's just a few blocks away from her old house. She drove around it as a kid, so many times, and remembers seeing that one jeep they all saw occasionally, the one with the birds. There had been a parrot in the passenger seat, a blue macaw, sapphire blue, and small cages piled in the back seat, bright flashes of green, lovebirds and budgies. She had never got a good glimpse of the driver, a woman. She turns down the music, maybe she should skip the song? She had only ever looked for the birds. The light of the streetlights aren't as bright as the macaw in her memories, but still special in their own ways, glowing up like a second world. She wonders what the woman had looked like, as she pulls into the roundabout with a finger hovering over the skip button, not quite looking up ahead as a jeep pulls ahead -

His eyes hurt a bit, after staring at the screen of his laptop for so long, the transition to driving too abrupt - it feels like his eyes have to catch up, and they ache, not that he's focusing on it. As his friend laughs, he reaches up to adjust his glasses, rub at his eyes a bit - maybe he needs to update his prescription again, he thinks absently, even though he saw the doctor last year about his eyes. Do you see an optometrist twice a year, or is once a year ok? He reminds himself to ask mom, when he gets home. Meanwhile, he blinks several times fast as his friend nudges him with an arm, bringing up that last meme. He laughs along, it was a good one, clever. He tries not to think about his aching eyes as he glances both ways, not bothering to stop fully as he pulls into the roundabout, glancing left, at the fast-approaching car -

Stop.

Rewind.

The car is still cold, even though she spent a good five minutes waiting for it to warm up, but it does take a bit to warm up. It should be ok after another few minutes. The familiar song plays as she approaches the roundabout - the one where the bird lady used to drive. Maybe she should turn up the heat a bit. She wishes this car had nice heated seats, but it doesn't, and the intrusive cool that comes with the rain seems to drift though the sealed walls of the car, straight through her jacket to her skin. The front-facing vents which blow warm air towards the passengers aren't very efficient. She should have worn gloves, but the ones she has keep shedding their cheap suede covering, and the bits get stuck under her nails. She taps a cold finger on the wheel, absently humming to the song. She should skip it, she knows the lyrics mostly. If she was wearing gloves, she wouldn't be able to hit the skip on the warm screen of her phone, she thinks, hovering a finger over the skip. She pulls into the roundabout, and that's enough of the song, she hits skip with her cold finger just as a jeep pulls directly in front, and she gasps as her wide eyes meet his, just as the music changes, the headlights blinding on the side of his door as she tries to hit the brakes -

He laughs as his friend gestures dramatically about the assignment, wagging a finger in the exaggerated way their teacher always does. His eyes hurt a bit, and he fiddles with the stitching along the back of the steering wheel covering to distract himself, neat raised lines. He wonders if a machine did that as he gives up and surrenders to the need to rub at his eyes, listening to his friend recite that great meme. He lifts a shoulder, but the seatbelt rubs too much - he's always had sensitive skin, and it rubs, even through his shirt and jacket. He pulls it away, but it snaps back, and his friend snorts a laugh, seeing him do it, raising an eyebrow of false judgement. He reaches over to shove as his friend laughs, the guy isn't even wearing his seatbelt, he can't judge too hard, and he should be wearing it, but it's only a short drive. If a cop comes, he can get it on fast enough, not that he's driving badly, he's still got his learner's license, he's gotta be careful. He lets the seatbelt snap back into place - he's at the roundabout, and he pulls out, just as a black car rounds the bend - he feels the exact moment the hairs on his arms stand up as his eyes widen, meeting the eyes of the woman in the car as she drives straight towards him, and he tries to accelerate away, panic rising -

Stop.

The sound of metal colliding, the screech of tires on wet pavement, then horns, brakes, silence. The rain patters against the pavement, unbothered -

Stop.

Rewind.

The cars slam together, and three bursts of white slam out of the cars as airbags deploy, as the driver door of the silver jeep crunches inwards, as the windscreen of the black car shatters, the driver jolting forwards at the impact - their eyes meet before the metal collides, two terrified souls trapped in horror together before everything turns to chaos -

Stop.

Rewind.

She feels the impact rattle through her bones, and for an instant, she's floating, weightless. She can feel the moment something in her neck snaps when the cars hit, and she feels a flood of pain, so intense that she can't even scream, and the world goes black as the car jolts forwards. She doesn't feel it when her body slams back into her seat, as the airbag deploys. She doesn't feel the warm blood trailing down her coat, the glass shards embedded so deep they scrape bone in some places, she doesn't feel the way her leg is caught by a rugged piece of metal, pinned, as the car jerks to a halt, too caught in the other to move forwards as he foot slips off the pedals -

He doesn't know what happened. He can feel something on his face, and everything is cold - what happened? He tries to move, but his body isn't responding. Was he - what was he doing? He looks to his left, and sees a wall of metal - he doesn't have one of those at home. Does his friend? His friend was just here, sitting beside him. Where is he? He tries to move his neck, and gasps at the feeling, the jolt, a pain he didn't expect, but he can move it, and he does, looking to his right -

She lies there, motionless, seeing nothing as she stares forwards, blood leaking from her wounds, her neck twisted harshly. Her eyes are blue, like the feathers of a macaw. There is nothing behind the blue of her eyes.

He tries to scream, but his throat won't move, and all he does is make a terrible choked sound as he sees. His friend is half-though the windshield - he wasn't wearing a seatbelt, they had been driving - why hadn't he been wearing a seatbelt? His friend isn't moving. He tries to move his arm, and it's shaking, and it's cold - he can't see what's on his hand. His glasses are gone. Where are - not important, he tells himself, and his arm is uselessly patting the back of his friend's thigh, the only thing he can reach, but he isn't moving, and he can't call out - out! He has to get out, then he can help, get to his friend. He tries to move, and he can't - Why won't his legs move? Why is - is everything blurry? Course it is, he doesn't have his glasses. The thought, inane as it is, makes him giggle, the sound choked, hysterical. He needs to get out, then he can get his glasses, he must be in shock. His legs aren't moving. He squints, trying to see his legs. There's so much everything in the way, metal, a deflating airbag, covering his legs. His legs - they must just be buried, he thinks, under all this wet metal. He whimpers a bit when he sees how much is in the way, tries to see, he can't see it well without his glasses. Everything is definitely blurry. He doesn't want to be here. He - he wants to be home, he thinks, and his mind latches onto the thought.

It's - it's really cold here. He tries to move up, out, but he can't feel his legs, his legs are buried, and his hands are cold and wet, covered in something? He needs to see, but he can't see anything, everything's too blurry. He's tired. He can - maybe he should rest, before he tries to move. It's getting warmer - he can take a break, then get out. Then he can...

His head slumps forwards into the wet airbag before he can finish his thought.

Stop. But there's no stopping this.

The shouts of others from outside as they try to help, but how? They shout back and forth, but no one moves. No one wants to make it worse. Soft exclamations, curses, prayers. Someone's calling 911.

The boy doesn't feel the moment his brain stutters to a stop, his body spasming once as it tries to move the blood which keeps draining from the mess of metal that tore through his legs, leaving exposed veins, nothing stopping the blood from flowing out, away. He doesn't wake.

On the hood of the jeep, the left eye of his friend is wide. A shard of glass has ruined the right eye, which oozes blood and rain. The cause of his death is unrelated to the glass.

The girl's eyes, macaw blue, reflect the artificial flashing blue and red of the ambulance's lights.

Stop.

Fast Forwards.

Fatal crash, the article reads. Three casualties.