There seems to be a huge dent in the grill of the van. It is almost as if the van ran into a huge boulder.
The driver doesn't seem to be hurt. He does, however, seem to be in shock.
While talking on the phone across the street, he throws you several frightened and confused glances.
The kid also seems to have faired the accident fine. How he did that is beyond you, since you were the only thing between him and the van.
Oh! Yeah! Yourself! You glance down, and see that there isn't a scratch on you! But how is that possible? You wonder to yourself. That van hit me straight on. I don't even remember feeling the impact.
The driver hangs up the phone and walks back over, seeming half shocked, as well as halfway smug.
"I called the police," he said. "They should be here any minute."
"That's good," you say.
"Good?!?" he laughs, mockingly, "Why is it good that they're going to take you to prison to figure out what kind of weapon you have on you?"
"Wha-?" you ask.
"I hit you at about 35 mph. There's not a scratch on you, and my van is totaled. Don't tell me that you didn't use a weapon, girlie."
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