Broken

She had just looked round for a moment. A moment was all it took.

Her foot was down on the accelerator. She just wanted to get home. Work had been murder and she had been late again to pick up Josh from his after school club. The apologies pouring out of her mouth did nothing to thaw the frosty glares of the assistants who were used to her lateness and now seemingly empty promises that it would never happen again.

Josh was in the back messing about with her phone, he always asked for it in the car and she gave it to him, it generally stopped him kicking her seat. She had been on the motorway for twenty minutes, planning their evening meal in her head, when she felt the first thump from behind. She warned him, angrily, she'd had just about enough today. The lights from other cars were making her eyes smart and she passed the back of her hand across them, little relief there.

Another thump and that was it. She sat up in her seat, whipped her head around and began to yell. Then it was noise, lights, metal scrapping, dizzying spinning and then nothing. Only a small, grubby trainer abandoned against the curb.

Time up.
Inspiration today was via Rusty Magee on Twitter who gave me the prompt of the trainer on a motorway.