Kismet

2. The Question Game

The call ended shortly after, leaving Malori to her thoughts. 'Bad premonition? That's rare...' she scratched her head in thought. 'But what could be so horrible? I haven't had a slip up with Mom in months.' Eventually she shrugged the thought off, well aware that she wouldn't be able to guess the problem. "Premonitions are silly, she could be wrong." She mumbled as she continued to look for something to distract herself from the long day ahead of her. After putting her sheets in the dryer, Malori sat down to watch TV in the living room.
The device buzzed to life, the current showing an old movie on a channel her father used to watch. 'Maybe I could've watched it with him if...' she shook her head to clear the thought. She refused to think that way anymore.
She instead forced her attention to a man with a daughter on the screen having fun and laughing. Curiosity piqued, she continued to watch. She wished she had that again.
Malori willed herself to watch as they got into a car, a gut wrenching feeling started in her belly. 'They won't be us. They can't be.' she had to remind herself.
The family members on the screen drove to get flowers for the mother on an anniversary. They debated on what kind, before settling on the mother's favorites.
Malori managed to quell the feeling when the car got on a highway. The father had no clue of the speeding driver heading straight for them from the right. Collision happened in a flash and the car rolled twice, indented heavily.
Malori almost wretched. She began to hyperventilate immediatly, she couldn't stop the tears welling up in her eyes. The flashbacks were too strong as she became a mess.
She vaguely remembered the phone. Blinking away the tears, she dialed the number with clumsy, shaking fingers. Certain she had gotten the number right, she put the device to her ear, trying to quiet the bawling.
The phone rang twice. "Hello?" The smooth voice on the other end questioned.
"I was watc-watching TV and I didn't know. I thought I wou-would just waste time. Then there was a cra-crash and I reme- rembembered and I can't st-st-stop it." The borderline hysterical girl stammered between hiccups and sobs.
The other girl became silent for a moment. "We're going to play the Question Game." She stated slowly.
Malori gave a whimper, semblance to agreement.
"Malori, where are you now?" She asked, slow and calm.
"Home." the girl answered, starting to latch onto the tranquility of the others voice, calming just slightly.
"Then you aren't in a car?" Nascha continued.
"No." Malori hiccuped.
"Are you about to drive or be driven anywhere?" She pressed.
"No."the sobbing began to die down.
"How were you to know that happens to those characters? Had you ever seen that program before?" She inquired.
"No." Malori sniffled, her breathing more controlled.
"Then why are you a mess? The TV wasn't your fault. The accident wasn't your fault."
"But it was," the girl began to blubber on, "If I hadn't wanted that stupid ice cream from the vendor - we had ice cream at home! I was so stupid and dad and Ashe were so nice - they even let me ride in the front seat when I belonged in the back...if I let him sit in the front it'd be better for mom. If I didn't want to get the stupid stuff everybody would be okay."
"Stop that nonsense. How could you know that drunkard was coming home from a bar? How could you know that sitting in the front would save you?"
"I didn't." She replied, the shaking died into occasional tremors.
"Would your father or Asher be pleased with your behavior?" Nascha questioned.
She thought a moment, sobering a bit more. "...No." A hand rose to wipe her face.
"Why do you intend to carry on Asher's legacy?" the question more firm, demanding.
"...I feel it's the least I can do." She mumbled.
"Are you calm?" the question hesitant.
She took a moment to assess herself. The hyperventilating stopped, the tears gone, and the flashbacks ceased as well. "Thank you..." She whispered.
"I'm glad to be of service." the girl on the other end hummed.
"You're a great therapist." Malori admitted. "I find a person takes a lent ear for granted, finding much more gratification to a questioning mouth."
Malori gave a small smile. "You're definitely good at asking questions."
"You don't know the half, dear." The other chuckled.

I know it's a little shoddy, and short, but it's decent enough. The message to be conveyed by the panic attack is that Malori is the only survivor and blames herself because of a really trivial thing such as icecream.