Two Seconds


Ashley Gutierrez, Editor

.01 of a second: My front bumper and grill collapse, closer and closer toward my body.

.02 of a second: The hood crumples like a thin piece of paper, shattering the windshield. The rear wheels lift off the earth still spinning. The frame of my car has stopped completely while my body is still moving at 55 miles per hour.

.03 of a second: My steering wheel that I am gripping disintegrates in the palms of my hands.

.04 of a second: The front of my car is now totaled. The rear is moving at 35 miles per hour, and at 55 miles per hour, my body is still launching forward.

.05 of a second: My frail, 16-year-old body is plummeting forward. My head collides with the already shattering glass. The large shards of glass shred my face making me somewhat unrecognizable.

.06 of a second: My beat up, grey converse are ripped off my feet leaving them bare. The rest of my body has now traveled through the fractured glass. My flesh and clothes have now become a dismantled collection of blood and cloth.

.07 of a second: My 145-pound body smacks the asphalt pulverizing some of my bones. Chemicals from my now flame-engulfed car are oozing toward my already dead body.

My young life that has never seen seventeen, never been to a prom, never walked across a graduation stage, never had a job, never experienced college, never been in love, never lived on my own, never got to be a mom, never got the chance to grow old with someone… is now over. My life is over.

In two seconds a honey bee can flap its wings 400 times, a bullet can travel 1,800 meters, a fastball can be thrown and returned to the pitcher, 22 trees in the Amazon rainforest are cut down, 8.6 babies are born, and 3.2 people die. In two seconds I could’ve buckled my seatbelt. In two seconds I could’ve saved my life.