Cars smash together and crumple like tin cans on the freeway until there is a mile-long pile of broken glass and severed limbs.

I caused this.

My heart skips a beat as I dial 911 and rush into the rubble. A child is screaming somewhere in the darkened corner of the dome-shaped pile of vehicles. When I locate her, I observe that she is being pinned down underneath the wheel of a motorcycle. I quickly lift the tire and allow her enough room to scoot out. The bone in her leg pokes out through her skin, and I am forced to carry her out of the maze of crumpled metal.

I caused this.

I place the child- I believe her name is Lucy- on the back of my slightly dented 1980 Chevy C10 and turn back to face the destruction. There is a blazing fire staring back at me and a woman stands atop an overturned 18-wheeler. She says something that gets lost in the distance between us, and an explosion sends her body flying into several indistinguishable pieces.

I caused this.

Lucy begins calling out to me and points at an approaching vehicle. My heart sinks as I locate one single ambulance driving haphazardly over the roadway. The driver reminds me of myself as she is driving without paying attention, and the rig is headed directly towards my truck without showing any signs of stopping. My feet react before my brain, and I find myself lunging toward the Lucy. I’m a second too late. The rig slams into my truck and sends her flying into the ditch until she, too, is buried. Sirens wail as sparks hit gasoline and ignite everything in a blazing pit of metal and chipped paint.

I caused this, and now everything is up in smoke.