That day, he was walking on the street, when he suddenly saw a little girl and a boy - probably siblings - play around. They were talking about a recent story their grandma had told them. He tried to listen to their voices - young and full of grandeur.
"My dad likes to ride like a hero. No one can drive faster," the boy said. The girl continued, "When we go back home, we need to talk to our mom. She never replies back." "Idiot, mom lives in a photo, I don't know if she'd ever talk. We should tell her what granny said. Maybe then, she will talk back," the boy said.
He was listening to them intently. His attention was disturbed by a big crash. A trailer was parked just next to where the kids were playing on the road. A car was speeding down the road - the driver was probably off-balanced - he couldn't see the trailer ahead. He rammed his car straight into the truck.
He watched as people around ran to the scene and took two bodies out of it, covered with blood, not breathing. The man who drove was, however, not hurt much, miraculously. He somehow got out of the car, picked himself up, and looked at the two bodies, with utter shock and pain. He tried to scream, but couldn't. And then he fell down, unconscious. Some people rushed him to a hospital.
All of this happened in a flash. As tragic as it could be, the man kept on looking. And then he looked back towards the siblings. They were gone. He could see them nowhere. His eyes searched throughout, as his heart turned tragic.
He took out his wallet, and from it a small, monochrome image. On it, were the pictures of his wife, and two kids - one girl and a boy. A drop of tear rolled down his cheek and fell on the photograph.
He had lost his wife already. Had he not been speeding that day, he'd be playing with his kids now. Delusions are the only thing that keep him busy and ticking.