Flash Fiction: Mother's Day

Snow drifted across the windshield as my car careened across the road. I gripped the wheel, spinning it in a panic, my fingers frozen to it, my breath bated—the momentum threw me almost into the passenger's seat, and a feeling of weightlessness fell over me--

And that's why I noticed the snow. In that moment, I didn't see the tree, or the cars flying towards me in the opposite lane as I spun—I noticed the white. The picture of the mother I missed--in her white dress, with white speckling her hair--etched across the frosty road. The reason I was drunk.

The reason I was about to crash.