Gretel woke up with a start. “Where am I? Why don’t both my eyes work?” She looked around with her one good eye and saw asphalt and cars. All damaged. “Am I at a body shop? How did I get here? “
“Where is my person? Why isn’t she driving me?” I remember a curvy two-lane road. We were on a Sunday drive. The road was damp and a little slick. My person was driving carefully. I knew I could handle these roads. No problem.
“You’re dead. Stop your yammering.”
She looked to the right with her one good eye and saw the red pick-up truck parked next to her.
“I killed you.”
“What?” She couldn’t be dead. She had miles and miles left in her. She was a driving machine.
Memories came in snatches. The beautiful curvy road she could handle. Her confidence in the corners. Then, a red blur in front of her as her person pulled off the road and stopped. Then BAM. She didn’t remember anything after that.
She started to feel pain and realized that her entire hood and engine compartment were crumpled and ruined. Nothing worked. Everything hurt.
“Maybe I can be fixed” she thought hopefully. She drifted off, dreaming about the roads she would drive, the curves she would handle with ease.
She woke up again when she heard voices. Not her person. Other people walking around her with clipboards, shaking their heads. “Totaled”, she heard. “This one isn’t worth fixing. It’s 10 years old and has 120,000 miles on it. It will cost more in repairs than it is worth.”
“I am dead” she thought. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” But then she remembered her person patting her on the dashboard and on the bumper. Saying thank you for protecting them. She sighed. “I did my job” she thought. “I made driving fun for my person and I protected her when she needed it.”