Young Writers Society

You slow down to a stroll, letting him run ahead. His laughter echoes in your ears making you smile. But that’s all over in a moment. He starts crossing the street, and you yell at him to be careful. But your voice never reaches him, drowning in a screech of tires. You’re running, your feet not hitting the asphalt fast enough. And then, darkness.
- I do like how you started there; it's a fast change of pace into action through a short, yet decisive description. However, the last line 'And then, darkness.' bugs me. I believe it'd be better if you left it out, leaving it to our imagination as to what happens next - we can tell from the previous sentence that it's going to be bad.
***

I adjust the mirror, humming a tune. The cigarette drops. Cursing, I fumble in the darkness for it, but my hands meet nothing but air. I look down not wanting the car to catch fire. Where is it? The car swerves and I look up again. My eyes finally notice the figure in front. I shout, pushing the brake. The screech of tires drowns in a blood curling scream, and then, darkness.
-I could say the same here, the last line 'and then, darkness' kind of bugs me, it breaks the whole flow and pace. I believe it'd go better without it.
***
I wake up to the wail of sirens. My head is pounding and I can’t see anything. That’s when I figure out I’m lying down. I shoot up, and look around. I’m in an ambulance. My blood turns cold when I realise why.

“Where am I?”, I say. A paramedic turns around to look at me.

“Are you feeling alright?”

When I continue glaring at him, he says, “A car accident. You blacked out.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

The man doesn’t say anything, just motions at a figure in a stretcher. I squint, trying to see better. And it hits me when I see you. Strong arms pull at me before I even realize I’m running. It can’t be.
-I can see so far the sentences are short on purpose and they do resemble a hammer, hitting, loudly, solid. It's a nice impact, it does strike.

I kneel down beside you, unbelieving. You don’t say anything or even meet my eyes.

The grief in your eyes reflects my own. Footsteps approach us and I instinctively turn around. The paramedic and a police officer.

“Could the boy have survived?”, a voice says.

“I doubt it. Even if the driver had managed to stop the car, the boy would be severely injured.”

“So the driver isn’t the one to blame?”

“Not really. If the boy had stopped, and the car weren’t moving so fast…”

I close my eyes, taking your hand in mine and let myself cry.
- A sad story, ey. It does strike one's memory, I'm sure I will remember it.