Accident Billboard

The sterile smell of antiseptic and the soft beep of the heart monitor were the first things I noticed when I regained consciousness. My head was pounding, and a dull ache radiated through my side. My mind tried to piece together what had happened—flashes of screeching tires, the crunch of metal, the blinding headlights of the other car. And then, nothing. A nurse had come in, her gentle touch and soft voice bringing me back to the present. “You’re in the hospital, just a precaution,” she assured me. “A few bruised ribs and a concussion, but you’ll be okay.” I spent the next few days recovering in a haze of medication and half-hearted conversations with doctors, always surrounded by white walls and the occasional muffled sound of footsteps in the hallway. My thoughts kept drifting back to the accident—how close I had come to losing everything. Finally, they cleared me to leave. The hospital discharged me with instructions for follow-up care, but what I really wanted was to get home, back to some semblance of normal. I used my phone to hail a Lyft ride, the cold air of the outside world hitting me as I stepped out of the hospital doors. The driver, an older man with a quiet demeanor, nodded as I slid into the back seat. We didn’t speak much; I was still dazed, my mind still on the crash.