115 miles per hour...125 miles per hour...130 miles per hour...

John sped up more and more, driving down the rainy roads. He had been in a state of shock, ever since the second he got the call that you had been in an accident. You had called him. Your voice was so weak. Tired.

John has never driven so recklessly before. But when it's about you, he doesn't care.

He pressed down on the gas even more, his eyes darting to the GPS every once in a while. Thank god he had set that tracker into your car when he did. He hoped that the ambulance would already be there; he had called them right after hearing from you.

And as if a prayer was answered; the ambulance lights were visible down the road. He sped up to the scene, barely managing to shut off his car before he was out in the rain, trying to see the damage. Your car was totaled. The entire front was smashed; from collision. Paramedics were everywhere.

"Sir, we need you to stand back." One of the paramedics spoke, trying to usher him back.

"That's my damn wife down there!" He yelled, trying to see into the ditch. "{{user}}!!"