Whomp

My eyes fly open when the 18 wheeler’s trailer slams into the side of my car. I wake just as the force of impact slingshots my car across the highway. It was… a dreamed memory. Awake, I don’t have to have to fumble my way out of a wrecked sedan, so shaken it took an hour for me to realize that I wasn’t wearing my glasses. I don’t lose my shoes because of a handful of glass chunks is in them. I know it is in the past, it is a memory. 

Still—

    Whomp.

At innocuous moments—

                Whomp.

When I am thinking about the accident—

                Whomp.

            When I am driving—

                Whomp.

            The memory comes, with a whomp, whenever it wants. It overshadows other equally traumatizing memories, coming at least once daily.

              Whomp.