Consciousness came slowly. Too slowly. Something was wrong. Time was coming at me in discrete packets. Something was definitely wrong. I searched my memory. Where had I been? The response was slow to arrive. Too slow. I had been driving. Where? Home. Did I make it home? No response.
The bits of time started banding together and I realised I was only really now approaching some kind of workable state of mind. I was still in the car. What was left of it. I was looking ahead. At bitchumen less than a metre from my face. Where was the front of the car? There was glass all over the road, must have been from the windscreen. I was suspended horizontal by my seat belt. What had happened? Did I hit something? No response. Nothing.
There were people all around me. Cops, bystanders and ambos. I wondered whether they had seen an accident. I realised they had. I was having trouble processing the situation I found myself in. Someone must have hit me. Bastard. I am such a careful driver. Usually. In fact, I remembered making the point to my wife on the phone. Just before... I remembered. What I hit.
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