Look both ways before crossing.
Look again.
More slowly this time - drink it all in.
Ignore the car.
This is it - the last place you will be. The way out. Your time.
Don't go with that as your last memory. The car, closer and closer. A screeching of brakes. Fear. Tension. A jolt. Pain. And then... out.
There are trees here. And birds. Grass and flowers, even at this time of year.
Lots of trees. Lots of birds.
You weren't here very long.
You must have crossed that road a thousand times in your short life.
Always, always looking at the cars.
Not this time.
Maybe this time you were looking at the trees, the sunset, listening to bird song, remarking to yourself how delightful it is, as winter begins to show her teeth, that there are still some flowers bold enough to show off.
I hope so.
I really hope so.
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