The Lamp

Crash

The low hum of the engine blended with the smooth jazz playing on the radio, filling the car with a kind of lazy calm. Mike tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, matching the rhythm of the sax. Outside, the countryside stretched on forever, bathed in that warm, golden light just before sunset. The kind of light that made everything feel surreal, like time had slowed down enough for him to finally breathe. Just for a moment, he could forget the weight of everything.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. Solitude wasn't something he got often. His life was usually a chaotic blur of meetings, deadlines, and faces he barely remembered. But out here, on this empty road, Mike felt something close to peace. Sure, his life wasn't exciting. It was predictable—job stable, bills paid, everything in its place. It might not have been thrilling, but it was steady. And right now, steady felt damn good.

The breeze slipping through the cracked window carried the scent of pine, cool and refreshing. He breathed it in, savoring the stillness. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched across the road like fingers. It was the kind of drive that made time feel irrelevant, a lull that made you forget where you were headed.

Mike glanced at the dashboard—7 PM. Almost home. A quiet night in. Maybe a movie, maybe a book. The kind of routine that used to bore him to death, but now? Now it felt like something worth holding onto.

But peace is always temporary.

Out of the corner of his eye, something flickered. His fingers tightened on the wheel. Ahead, a shadow shifted, and then, like a goddamn nightmare, a massive truck swerved into his lane, headlights blinding. His heart slammed into his chest as adrenaline took over. Everything around him stretched into slow motion, like the world was mocking him. The truck was coming fast—too fast.

"Fuck!" Mike's hands jerked the wheel to the right, tires screeching against the narrow road. The car fishtailed, the back end swinging wildly as the truck barreled down.

There was no time to react. No time to think.

Metal collided with metal, a sickening screech tearing through the air as the truck clipped the back of his car, sending it into a spin. Mike's stomach flipped. Everything was a blur of motion—spinning, crashing, flipping. His world turned upside down, literally. The car rolled, once, twice—he couldn't keep track. All he knew was the deafening crunch of steel, the sharp crack of glass, and the gut-churning sense of weightlessness.

His body was thrown around like a rag doll, every violent lurch slamming him against the seatbelt, every flip a disorienting jolt. Blood filled his mouth, hot and metallic, as the chaos continued.

And then—nothing. Silence. It was the kind of eerie calm that made your skin crawl. Time froze, everything suspended for just a second, long enough for him to see it. A light. Faint, blurred, but unmistakable. Hovering above him like a ghost. It wasn't a streetlight, wasn't the truck's headlights. It was something else. Something that didn't belong here.

What the hell?

But before his mind could process it, the car flipped again. The world snapped back into motion, and the last thing Mike saw before his body smashed into the side of the car was that light, burning bright with an almost otherworldly glow.

Then everything went black.

When consciousness came creeping back, it was slow, like trying to swim through quicksand. His whole body screamed, every muscle, every bone aching with a deep, relentless pain. The smell of gasoline and burnt rubber filled his lungs, making it hard to breathe. But he was alive. Somehow, he was still fucking alive.

His eyes fluttered open, and at first, all he saw was darkness. Panic gripped him—was he blind? But then, slowly, the shattered windshield came into focus, the crumpled roof dangerously close to his head. He was hanging upside down, still strapped into his seat.

Mike groaned, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the seatbelt. It took every ounce of strength to click it free. His body dropped hard onto the ceiling, pain shooting through his side. He coughed, tasting blood again. He had to get out. Now.

The distant sound of sirens filtered through the haze, but they were too far away. He dragged himself through the wreckage, his hands slick with blood, vision swimming as he pulled himself through the shattered window.

The cold asphalt greeted him like a slap. He lay there, gasping for breath, every inch of him screaming in pain. But when he turned his head, he saw it again. That same fucking light, hovering just beyond the wreckage. Faint, but there.

Mike blinked. Once. Twice. And then it was gone, leaving him with the sound of approaching sirens and the suffocating weight of exhaustion.

The world started to fade again. His body gave in, slipping back into unconsciousness. The last thing he heard before everything went dark was the low hum of the ambulance in the distance