That night

That night, a hover car was seen speeding down a freeway with no signs of slowing down. The driver was a drunk man wearing a suit, and the well-dressed woman sitting in the passenger side beside him was his wife. They were arguing about something.

The little girl seated at the back was their child. A little blond girl of five, wearing a fancy black dress with a pair of head phones over her ears. She had her eyes closed and was quietly bobbing her head up and down in time with the music playing in her head. She was lost in her own little world of techno pop, completely oblivious to the growing discomfort between both of her parents. It was not until the music in her ears suddenly stopped that she realized something was wrong and opened her eyes.

She saw her father.

He had forcefully removed the pair of headphones from her head and was now yelling at her. He had an angry expression on his face and his eyes were focused on her reflection in the rear-view mirror, not the road. Her mother was screaming at him to turn around and face the road but he didn’t listen. Then it happened.

They were suddenly engulfed in the head lights of another vehicle speeding towards them, and the impact that soon followed the two vehicles crashing into each other caused the little girl’s spinal cord to snap in half.

That was when it happened.

The night the little girl lost everything.

The night her parents died, and the night she lost her ability to speak, stand, or walk ever again.

Or did she.