As they pulled out of the parking lot, she turned to him with a smile before her expression shifted to one of fear. “Francis, look out!” Something hit the side of the car at a huge force and the world shattered, glass breaking and screeches of wheels against the asphalt. They flipped over and Francis would be suddenly aware of a sharp pain in his back. The world was noisy until they settled and then there was only silence.
Poppy was in the passenger seat, a cut on her head. Her eyes were closed and she was unconscious. The pain in his spine was growing sharper.
His door opened and general clamour filled the space. “Sir! Sir! Can you hear me? Don’t worry, an ambulance is on the way.”
“There’s another one,” he would here the person call. “Go around to the other side.” He looked back down at Francis as Poppy’s door opened and hands reached in and unbuckled her before tugging her out, her body limp. “Sir, can you tell me your name?”
He would be able to see sirens through the shattered window. “Alright. Alright, Francis. That’s okay. They’re coming to get you out, okay?”
When Francis woke, he would find himself in a hospital bed dressed in a hospital gown. He was hooked up to a few IVs, and Poppy was curled up on the bed next to him, a bandage on her forehead. She was asleep, her brow furrowed as she murmured, but she seemed unharmed.
