I hit someone.

I pull the car into the nearest parking lot—a 7 Eleven—and park abruptly.

It's only a little past seven in the evening, but the winter's night is as black as it is cold.

Anxiety buzzes within me. My throat feels thinner than a twig as I try to breath. My chest is a clenched mass of endless worries.

I turn the music off in my car, silencing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. I knew I shouldn't have turned on the music. I know better. It distracts me.

I stumble out of the car, horrific images bouncing in my mind. A dead body. Blood splattered on the busy street.

I jog toward the street, imagining cars repeatedly driving over the dead body.

Maybe it wasn't a person that I hit. Perhaps it was just a squirrel, or a possum or some other little rodent.

I certainly felt a bump, though. There is no doubt about it. Could it have been a simple bump in the road?

I continue toward the street, cars zooming past me in both directions, their headlights screaming with brightness.

It wasn't a bump in the road. I travel down this road every day after work. There has never been a bump.

Oh please! Please! Don't let me have killed someone! Please.

I cross the street when I see a small opening and barely make it before a set of cars plow past me.

I begin my search on the side of the road. My tennis shoes sink into the thick snow, icing my feet.

With building dread, I wait for the body I will find amongst the trees and bushes. Perhaps buried in the snow.

It was somewhere around here. I must have hit the person around here.

I peer toward the road. There isn't a sign of anyone.

More images jump into my mind like popcorn.

A disfigured body. Its guts sprawled across the road. What if the body went flying into the bushes?

I trudge through the snow, my breath visibly dancing in front of me. I push aside branches as I search frantically for the body.

There is no sign of anything. Perhaps I didn't hit something. Maybe I was just imagining a bump.

I continue my search until I feel satisfied that I haven't hit someone.

Oh, but there is that nagging feeling, still deep within me. Am I sure I checked everywhere?

Oh, come on! You've done this before! You've thought you've hit bodies multiple times. As always, you didn't hit someone. You just thought you did.

I step toward the edge of the road, preparing to cross the street again. I can feel the breeze of the cars as they pass.

Wait!

I turn back toward the snow-covered bushes and trees.

I need to search just a little more. A little longer. What if I really did hit someone?

I bend down, the cold snow falling inside my boots and seeping onto my feet, wetting them. I wiggle my toes, which are beginning to feel numb.

Continuing my search, the images continue. The body could be hidden in the deep recesses of these bushes!

A small burst of relief is given me as I cannot find any signs of dead bodies. Not even a dead squirrel is found lying around here.

My choppy breath escapes my lips as I hurry back toward the road. I dash through the cars, perhaps unwisely.

A honk blares at me as I reach the other side.

Gasping, I put my hands to my knees as I've made it safely to the other side.

I trot back toward my car, fumbling with my keys. I frown, realizing I didn't even lock my car when I left it. I shakily plop down into the driver's seat and ignite the engine.

Okay. Go home. You didn't hit anyone. Just go home.

I pull out of my parking spot and slam on the breaks as a person runs across the parking lot, a warm drink in their hands.

"Oh, God!" I cry aloud, feeling like I'm about to choke.

I didn't hit them. I didn't hit them. It's okay. I tell myself as I continue.

I look one last time in the direction of where I hit the bump. Or...thought I hit a bump. No sign of a dead body.

I turn out of the 7 eleven and am back on the road.

Did I check long enough for a body? Perhaps I should have searched longer. What if I really did hit someone?

Just keep driving. You didn't hit someone. You know you didn't. Come on!

My shoulders hunch over as I drive with as much caution as I can muster.

Almost home. Just get home.

At last I make it to my neighborhood of trailer houses.

My body jolts. Is that a person?

Just a tree. Just a tree.

I continue forward and pull into my small driveway.

The car creaks as it rolls over the snow. I need to shovel.

I put the car in park and release a shaky breath.

Practically falling out of the car, I grip the keys in my hand. I slam the door shut behind me and jump toward my front door.

Fumbling with my keys, I try to unlock the door to my house. This is my house, right?

I lean back, looking at the neighboring houses. I notice the angel statue outside of the house to my right. I've always thought it looks more similar to a gargoyle, though. That's Mrs. Lindon's house. That means you're at the right one.

At last, I stick the correct key into the hole and it clicks open.

I shuffle inside and flip the light on. Slamming the door behind me, I roughly pull my snow soaked feet out of my tennis shoes.

Shivering, I lock the door. I grip the door knob and attempt to turn it, just to make sure that it is truly locked.

Nodding to myself, I step into the kitchen. I set my keys in one of the kitchen drawers and rest my hands upon the countertop. So much to do.

I shrug my coat off and put it in the closet.

What shall I have for dinner? Hmmm. I open the pantry and grab a can of chicken noodle soup. This will do.

Grabbing a can opener, I gingerly slice open the can, careful not to cut myself. The image of a bloody hand enters my mind. Then a bloody body.

Am I certain I didn't hit anybody? What if I did? I can expect the police to show up at my doorstep tomorrow morning. I'll be charged with manslaughter. Maybe even tonight.

Or what if one of the dead person's relatives come looking for me? What if they want to attack me? I wouldn't blame them! I killed somebody.

Leaving the opened can of soup on the counter, I hurry toward my door and grasp the doorknob. It doesn't budge. It's locked. I unlock it anyway just so I can lock it once again.

Just make yourself dinner. The door's locked. Your fine.

Maybe I should take some Ativan. That might calm my nerves. But Ativan makes me sleepy. I have so much to do tonight, I can't get sleepy.

I return to my chicken noodle soup and grab a small metal pan. I set the pan on the burner and dump the contents of the can inside of it. I flip on the gas burner and sigh. My hands are freezing, so I blow on them.

Maybe I should turn up the heat.

Nah. I need to save my money.

Not that I'll be able to live here much longer anyway if I end up in jail for manslaughter. I shudder and hurry toward the door.

It's locked.

I head back to my kitchen and hover over my pan of soup.

My keys! Do I have my keys?

I open my kitchen drawer and sigh in relief as my set of keys wink back at me. Closing the drawer, I quickly open another drawer to fetch a wooden spoon.

I stir the contents within the pan. After sticking my finger in the lukewarm soup, I lick the liquid from my finger.

Still so much to do. I need to check the windows. Check the door once again. Change into my pajamas. Brush my teeth. Say my prayers.

My eyes widen in alarm. Did I say my prayers this morning? I can't remember.

Oh, God! Forgive me! I don't think I said my prayers this morning.

Maybe I did...I do remember kneeling down. But maybe that was yesterday morning, not this morning.

Perhaps if I had prayed, I wouldn't have hit that body.

"I didn't hit a body! I know I didn't," I say aloud to myself. It still doesn't assure me, though.

I return to the door and check that its locked.

I go back to the kitchen and stick my finger in the soup.

"Hot!"

I remove my finger and suck on it, turning the burner off with my opposite hand.

I fetch a bowl and using the spoon, I dump the contents into the bow.

Just sit down and eat. Sit down and eat. You can pray after that.

I'll need to pray twice. Perhaps even a third time to show that I truly am contrite.

Thank the Lord for your food!

"Yes! Yes! Thank you, Lord, for this food," I say aloud as I grab a small metal soup spoon from one of my drawers. I check the key inside my other drawer and sigh as I see it is still in there.

At last, I sit down at my small table and slurp at the soup.

Thud.

What was that? I push my chair back and stand up.

The police! They're here for me. I draw the curtain apart slightly and peer out the window.

It's just Mrs. Lindon getting home.

Nevertheless, I return to the door and check that its locked.

I go back to my soup, thoughts intruding my mind relentlessly. How am I going to sleep tonight? That bloody, dead body protrudes into my mind. I checked. I know I checked. Why do I have this nagging feeling, then? Perhaps it's my conscience. Maybe I know deep down that I actually did hit a person. I killed someone. I knew I shouldn't have been listening to music.

Selfish. Selfish. That's what I am.

I finish my soup, my belly warming and it expands thorough my whole body. If only it would continue to my head!

I take my empty bowl to the sink and wash it immediately. After checking the door once again, I begin checking all of the windows. They're locked. As usual. At least I checked, right? You never know...

I go down my small hallway and into my bedroom. I pull off my wet socks and throw them in the laundry bin. I'll do laundry tomorrow. Maybe I should tonight?

Nah. I'll do it tomorrow.

Fetching my flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt, I shrug them on.

I glance at my alarm clock. 9 o-clock. That time already? I get out of work at seven in the evening. On a good day, I get home by eight. Not because it's a long drive. For an average person, it would take twenty minutes to get home. I just...I just need to check certain things. Sometimes it takes me a whole hour. I'd rather take my time and be sure than hurry home.

Oh, but I'm not sure. I checked, but I'm not sure. I should have looked longer. What if I really did hit somebody?

I go back to the door and am satisfied that it is locked. At least for now. I check the windows as well just to be sure.

I quickly brush my teeth so I can get going with my prayers.

Once finished, I go to my bedside and kneel down. I clasp my hands together and look heavenward.

"Oh Lord," I say aloud, "Forgive me...I think I forgot to pray this morning." I sigh. "Now...uh, please bless my mom and dad. Bless my sister, Susie, and my brother, Tom. Bless Annika and Ralph. Ann and Brendan. Lisa and Chelsey. Bernard, James, Lily, Timothy, and Rachel. Oh, and Samantha and Kyle. Help David with his cancer and Shelby with her divorce...and her whole family. Then, there is Diane. She really needs a job. Addy and Bridget and their father. Uh..." I breath. I know there are more people. I know there are... "Miranda, please. Help her. And that guy I met today at work. Carl and Robert, of course. Richard, Adam, Lori, Matthew...and don't forget Alyssa. Andrew, Bob, and Laura as well."

I grab my prayer book and begin reciting the prayers within them. By the time I'm done, it's 10 o-clock and I'm exhausted and eager to get to bed. I rise, my knees burning from being on them for so long.

I blow out a breath.

I forgot. I need to say extra prayers in case I didn't say them this morning.

I kneel back down and repeat the prayers. My stomach swirls with a restless anxiety. I want to be done. I want to be done praying!

Oh, but I'm such a terrible person for thinking that. I shouldn't want to stop praying! I continue, though it feels like being forced to eat toothpaste. A lot of toothpaste.

I finish, guilt nagging at me. I wasn't devout enough when saying my prayers. I hardly paid any attention to what I was saying.

I put my face to my palm. Stupid. Stupid. Selfish, terrible person!

I force myself to start over, almost gagging from too much toothpaste.

At last, I finish and carefully set the prayer book aside. I then practically fall into bed in relief. I glance at the clock. 11:34 now.

Sleep. Sleep. I need to sleep.

If only I could turn my brain off. It just keeps circulating. Did I really hit someone? Surly the police would be here by now if I did. But that's ridiculous! How would the police even know it was me who killed the person? Someone probably witnessed it and saw my license plate number. Then, they'll track it back down to me.

I quickly hop out of bed and hurry toward the door. Locked. As usual.

I return to bed, my face a tense knot of anxiety. I try to relax the muscles in my face. Then I try relaxing the rest of my body. That's what my therapist told me to do. I flip from one side to the other and let out a huff.

Tomorrow morning, the news will say that a person was hit on the road, right by the 7 eleven. The lives of the victim's families will be ruined. I'll be charged with manslaughter and for running away from the scene of crime. I'll be imprisoned for life.

No. No. I will not be imprisoned. I did not hit someone. I would have known if I'd hit someone. Clearly, I would have known. I'm okay. Just go to sleep. Go to sleep. You didn't hit anyone, you know you didn't. I didn't! I swear I didn't...

By some miracle, I float toward the world of unconsciousness. That is, until I jolt upward in my bed.

I hit someone.

ƍs/u �