Whiplash

So the other day, I was driving back down from Sundance after seeing some people. I was finally to the main road that takes me back to Provo, but there was a car in front of me, so I had to wait my turn of course. Now this intersection provides a road that you don't really need to stop for that long at. It has a lane that you drive down and then merge onto the main road. So I see the car in front of me start to go, and assuming that they went ahead down that lane, I let off my brakes and started looking for on-coming traffic. All of a sudden I hear a loud noise and realized that I had just bumped the back of the car that was in front of me. So I get out of the car shocked because I have never had any kind of mishap like this before. A woman gets out and I give her my insurance, and her husband calls the fuzz. Trying to be as polite as possible, I ask if she is okay. She says she doesn't know because I "gave her whiplash." How bad can a person get whiplash if I was going 5 mph? Maybe even less than that. There was absolutely no damage done to the vehicles whatsoever. Not even a paint exchange! So like a retard, I didn't get her insurance info, but just got her name and phone number instead. Once again, I have never been in a situation like this so.....yeah. I'm hoping now that I don't get ripped off.

A Glimpse of the Past from the Future

At his desk, an old man opens a book that is torn and weathered.

Handwritten letters fall from within the pages.

He disregards them and leaves them on the dusty floor.

He turns to the first chapter and reads of nervousness and innocence.

Unsurity and curiousity.

The old man smiles and becomes interested.

Then he looks at the book itself and notices that it is small in length.

A hint of skepticism spawns in the back corner of his mind.

He reads on.

Passion. Devotion. Utter happiness.

A few pages tell of butterflies.

He feels content, but still has reservations.

The old man looks over at his empty bed.

Then, at his hands. They are dry and creased.

He pauses to observe picture frames in his room, all with no pictures in them.

He looks back down at the book, silently praying for a 'happy ending.'

His eyes scale a few more chapters, and he becomes slightly uneasy.

He feels something big coming in the story.

The man closes his eyes and squeezes out a single tear that falls on the word "goodbye."

He has read too much.

But then again, he knew the story all along.