[ WP ] Every time you die , you are transported to the time of the first event that ultimately caused your death . One day , you are hit by a car and sent 12 years into the past .

I did n't see the pickup truck coming, but I sure heard it barreling down the corner. The red monstrosity ran over me so fast I did n't get flung of the windshield. I was crushed. There were no sound to my ears but I felt my bones breaking, shattering. I figured if I ever got out of this alive, I would have been vegetative or paralyzed at the very least. I would n't be able to live my life, I would n't be able to feed myself or clean my own shit. 
 
 So I chose not to fight it. I chose death. 
 
 In a matter of minutes, I saw the pickup truck reversed over me. I could n't feel it anymore. My brains were on the street. People would have to use a vacuum to get all the pieces off the hot tarmac. Or they could just hose it down the drain. I saw blood pooling under my crushed body. Splinters of bones poking through the gaping wounds. Forget being in a coma, I was done. Gone. Finished. 
 
 There was a bloodcurdling scream. I turned and saw Mira Hennesy, my neighbor. She cupped the mouth with her hands and knelt. Her husband John ran out from the backyard with a chainsaw in his hands. His confused face turned to horror as he saw my body lying prone at the bottom of their driveway. I try to guess who would snap out of it first. My money's on the husband, he was more in control of his senses than his wife. 
 
 I guessed right. John threw his chainsaw on the ground, pulled out his cellphone from his back pocket and dialed for ambulance. Then he half dragged, half shove his wife inside. I saw him downing a glass of whisky before he came out again. He stood by me. After the cursory glance, he almost puke out his lunch. It was almost comical. he was standing there, looking at everywhere else than me. As if he was standing guard, daring the pickup truck to come again. But he did n't see it, neither did Mira. 
 
 `` I was in the living room, getting my keys to pickup Jess from her ballet class and run some errands. I heard a loud crunch. I ran out, I thought it was Brian, he had sleepover at his friends last night, I thought the car hit him, I thought he was gooooooone'' Mira wailed to the cops. So that was why she crumpled on the lawn, not because of the sheer bad luck that had punched me in the face and everywhere else, but because she thought it was her son. 
 
 `` I did n't see anything, officer. I was out back in the shed, trying to start the new lawn mower I got. I heard a scream, I thought something had happened to my wife, or any of my kids. I saw him crumpled in front of our house. His bits and pieces was everywhere. I can never forget how he looks like. Never forget.'' Well neighbor, you can always have your whisky as you remember me by. 
 
 The cops deduced I have no enemies. No money, no drug connections, absolutely no reason why somebody would want me dead. I found out who killed me. 
 
 It was like watching a movie. Your soul goes back to the time of the first event that caused you death. I went back 12 years ago. I was still living in my current house and the Hennesy had just moved in on my left. They were normal middle class suburban family. John owned his own plumbing company, Mira was a housewife, Brandon was nine, Brian was three, and Jessica was just an adorable blonde haired angel. They were just starting to be stable and living the American life, I'd say. 
 
 I was a wreck 12 years ago. I was deep in the rat race and slipping in the shit. I got fired from being a sales manager to working at the corner grocery store. My wife divorced me, took our baby and moved across the ocean. That was how much she hated me. I in turn had to go to a psychiatrist, and AA meetings and pay her alimony from my meager paycheck. Those were the bleakest months of my life. I was lonely and my only friend was Jim Beam. I kept getting pissed on at work, and my new neighbors were so damn annoying. They were obviously flaunting their perfect little family at me. So one night, I ran over Brandon. 
 
 I was drunk, as I would on every other night. It was almost summer but the road was still slippery. I remembered that there were a storm brewing but now it seemed the dark clouds were just in my head. It was n't even 7pm. I saw something flashed passed me and I could n't stop in time. So I kept driving. 
 
 Now I could see it all being replayed, scene by scene. I struck Brandon, not unlike what happened to me. I glanced to the Hennesy house. A little face with eyes as big as saucers were gaping at the accident. Brian. He knew it was me. 
 
 I came back an hour later and helped consoled John, I shared with him a bottle of whisky. That was when he and his silent but not to the point of dangerous neighbor, me, bonded. Brandon died a few days later at the hospital. I felt guilty then, but I was a trainwreck. I thought of suicide but never once confessed to anyone that I was the drunk driver who killed my neighbor's eldest boy. 
 
 I had to watch every shitty things I caused the Hennesys during the 12 years we've been together. Until the day I died. Brian was behind the wheels of that pickup truck. He was young and confused, he went with the wrong type of friends. The type that could get him a stolen car and disposed of it. 
 
 I guess this is karma, long overdue. I was n't angry at Brian. I deserved all the pain I felt when he murdered me the same way I murdered his big brother.
