You lose control of your car and you start to panic. You're too young to die and you certainly don't deserve to take anyone with you. The car hits the water and as everything fades to black you have one last clear thought: So this is how it ends.
When you wake up sputtering on the bank, looking up at your savior, you chide yourself for thinking that; you know better. This is the way the world ends.
"I could've sworn I hit you."
Not with a bang,
"If you did, then I'd be – I'd be dead."
but a whimper.
A/N: Props to T. S. Eliot and his poem "The Hollow Men."