The morning traffic crawled along Elm Street, thick with tension and honking horns. Clara sipped her coffee, glancing at the clock—late again. A blur of red ran the light just as she eased forward. Tires screamed. Metal crumpled. Her airbag exploded, thrusting her backward into stillness. Silence, then sirens. A child cried in the other car, but no blood, no fire—just shock. Bystanders gathered, voices hushed. Clara blinked through tears, heart racing louder than the crash. Life, she thought, could change in the space between green and red. And in the traffic of fate, no one ever really knows.
Thank you for reading, liking, and commenting to my posts. It is very appreciated.
I am currently raising money to pay for ongoing psychotherapy. I am a survivor of complex trauma, I have dissociative identity disorder, and complex PTSD. Therapy can be very expensive.
If you feel like donating to my fund you can donate using pay pal. My pay pal email for donating is:
Don’t feel you have to, there is no pressure, but I’m grateful for any donations that are received.
Again thanks for visiting!
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