"My! Have you seen that traffic jam! Told ya, hun, you shouldn't have taken the highway." The fairly young woman disapprovingly shook her head to emphasize her words even though her husband could not actually see the motion. She turned to her son in the backseat and winked at him. "Oh, but daddy always knows best, right?"
The five year-old lifted his gaze from his enormous teddy bear and giggled in response. He was not much of a talker for his age. Most people who came in contact with him probably thought that he was mute, but he was not, nor did he have any mental disability. On the contrary, he was quite the genius, yet he did not care much for discussion. Nevertheless, his obsidian eyes shined with unmatched liveliness anytime his mother spoke to him always with the same, constant warmth and care.
He physically was already the perfect image of his father. Not only were his thickly lashed eyes the same as his father's, but so was his dark-chocolate colored hair and his general body built. He was still rather small, but his lean frame already spoke of heredity. Denim would not grow to be very tall, five feet eight at most, again just like his father. Little boy in a loving family and no eventful story to tell.
His father replied with laughter in his voice, "Now, now, Denim. Don't you go and encourage her. You trust your dad, don't you?" The man flicked his gaze from the road ahead to the rear-view mirror and instantly tensed. Despite the screeching tires, clear evidence of a desperate attempt at breaking, a truck was coming behind them at full speed. Denim's father hit the gas, hoping to move out of the way, but another car, also fleeing the truck's apparent trajectory, cut straight before the nose of their car, and that was it. It was too late.
Screeching tires, heartbreaking cries and screams, windows shattering, and the furious rippling, folding and twisting of metal, then all came to a halt.
Denim, who had been clinging to his stuffed animal for dear life, lowered it slowly and glanced at his parents in the front seats. His father's head was bent backwards and hung in a humanly impossible manner over his right shoulder. As for his mother, she gasped and gagged harshly, leaned forward against the dashboard, as blood abundantly streaked her face. Denim was sitting in the middle of chaos itself yet without a scratch of his own.
Normal life, smiles, and laughter, all gone. The little boy sat there and did not move until paramedics came and tore him away from the car where his parents rested now quite peacefully. The humorous glint in his eyes was dead.