Worry filled the girl’s beautiful face,
her fiery hair severely disheveled,
her jade green eyes clouded with tears,
her heart beating fiercely and sporadically in her chest,
her porcelain skin painted in red blotches and streaks of dull black mascara.

She picked at her nails nervously,
flakes of turquoise polish drifting onto dingy checked gray tile
her dainty, sandal clad foot tapped anxiously

Unwanted memories swirled around in her head.
The orange traffic cone, misplaced in the middle of road,
its neon color catching her attention.
She jerked her arm slightly, narrowly missing the cone.

She didn’t miss the drunk driver in the cobalt blue Jeep, however.

She was unscathed,
the drunk driver was unscathed,
her passenger was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to monitors, being poked and prodded,
fighting for his life.

Damn the jerk of her arm.
Damn the drunk driver.
Damn that orange traffic cone.