Candy Colored Shrapnel

It was dark. A day that not many wished to be out on, a day turned to night by one of nature's furies. A nestalgic strom, something so massive and powerful, it was a wonder anyone was out at all. The birds in their nest's, the squierrls in their trees, and Michelle, in her 1990 Ford Taurus. Slowing to a stop in front of a stop sign, she takes a left onto a side road, hoping to beat the mainstream traffic on her way home. A usual thing done by most when traffic is bad. The streets are empty, and the little bit of life one the sides of the road consists of vegitation, and a few house's sprawled here and there. The steady rhythm of the rain is suddenly interrupted with a flourish of life. A dense blanket of rain began to fall. Michelle, in her early twenties, is breathing heavily and fast, causing the windows of her car to fog horribly. Frantically trying to wipe the windshield of the fog, she slips and floors the gas pedal, speeding up to a delicate 55 mph, on the wet tarmac. She rotates the wheel slightly to regain control of the speedin... wow... i really can't write right now... Basically in hollywood, what I was getting at. In Hollywood, no matter when where of why a car accident happens, there is always someone there to see it, and report it, and make some sort of notice of it. In real life, that wouldn't happen. Michelle is one of the few unlucky Americans whom, each year are casualties of faulty pressure checks on her tires, as well as inexperienced driving. Her car will spin out of control after hydroplaneing. Spinning frantically she will try and regain control onto the shift the cars movment onto a path of even more horrible consequences, causing it to flip, several times, and roll down the side of a hill, wrapping itself around a tree. Michelle will be trapped in the car, leg between dashboard and chair, arm between door and chair, wincing in pain, helpless to the situation. She will only live long enough to think about the pain she is in, and to hear the last few beats, of her heart, a casualty of what I like to call, Life.