Wipe Head – Chapter 1: Birthday Shadows
The morning sun spilled golden light over the Griffin family house, a warm and serene glow that promised a day full of laughter. The garden was immaculate, the flowers in full bloom, and the sound of birds filled the air, harmonizing with the distant hum of the city. Inside, the house was alive with activity — plates clinking, the aroma of breakfast, and William's excited footsteps thudding against the polished floor.
William, a bright-eyed boy of eleven, bounded down the stairs with energy that seemed endless. His dark brown hair ruffled as he raced to the dining table, his small hands clutching the gift he had received the night before. Today was his birthday, and the world felt as if it had paused to celebrate him.
"Good morning, sunshine," his mother said, her voice gentle but firm. She placed a hand on his shoulder, ruffling his hair just enough to make him smile. "Did you sleep well?"
"Mom! Today is my birthday!" William exclaimed, eyes shining. "I can't wait!"
His sister, Emily, a cheerful and cute six-year-old, giggled as she twirled around the room, clutching a small balloon she had brought from the previous day's surprise. "William, don't forget — you have to share your cake!" she chirped, her voice like the melody of a bell.
William laughed, the sound ringing with innocence. He was pure, excited, oblivious to the shadows that would soon creep into his life.
Their father, a protective and loving man with a ready laugh, entered the kitchen carrying a small stack of birthday hats. "Happy birthday, champ," he said, placing one gently on William's head. "Now, let's eat, or the cake will be gone before you even see it!"
Mom smiled, her caring eyes softening the room, yet her voice carried that subtle strictness William knew well. "William, eat properly and don't rush. And remember, your gift later — don't get distracted."
The family shared a warm breakfast — simple snacks, chips, and biscuits — but laughter and conversation made the mundane extraordinary. The aroma of cocoa and toast mixed with the soft morning air that seeped through the open windows.
After breakfast, the Griffins climbed into their family car, a sturdy SUV that had carried them through countless adventures. The day was bright, the sky a flawless blue, and the roads clear. Music filled the cabin, light and cheerful, the kind that made you tap your fingers against the dashboard.
Emily, bouncing in her seat, clutched a small bunch of balloons. "Daddy, I want more balloons!" she said, her eyes shining.
Her father chuckled, reaching into the backseat to grab the balloons. "You got it, princess. One balloon each!" he said, placing a bright yellow cap on Emily's head as he handed her a balloon.
William, sitting beside his mother, leaned in to whisper about his upcoming gift. "Mom, do you think I'll like it?" he asked, a grin spreading across his face.
"You'll love it, William," she replied softly, her hand resting over his. "Your father and I chose it carefully."
The car hummed along the quiet road, the tires rolling over the asphalt with a steady rhythm. William glanced out the window at the trees, the sunlight dancing across the leaves, feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the sun. Today was perfect.
Emily tugged at her father's sleeve. "Can we go a little faster? I want the balloons to fly!" she exclaimed. Her laughter was bright and carefree, a sound that would haunt William's memories one day.
Her father smiled, gripping the steering wheel firmly. "Easy, Emily. No need to rush. We've got the whole day ahead of us."
Emily giggled, holding the balloon high, letting it bob gently in the sunlight streaming through the window. William watched her with a protective warmth, his little brotherly instincts already strong at eleven.
The family exchanged jokes, talked about William's school projects, and teased each other. The car was filled with laughter, music, and the kind of innocent joy that only a family can share. William felt untouchable, safe, and loved.
But then, just as Emily's balloon floated a little too close to the dashboard, a small slip of the balloon sent it rolling forward…
"Oops!" Emily squealed, reaching for it.
Her father reached instinctively, trying to grab the balloon as it drifted toward the front. But in that single, tiny moment, everything shifted.
A loud, grinding screech pierced the air — tires skidding against asphalt — followed by a metallic CRUNCH that tore through the morning calm.
Emily's small hand flew to her mouth in terror. "Daddy!" she screamed.
Time seemed to slow. The balloon drifted helplessly in front of the windshield as the car jerked violently. William's heart pounded in his chest, his mother's hand gripping his arm as if to hold him in place.
The world outside blurred. The blue sky, the green trees, the sunlight — all vanished in a moment of spinning metal and screaming.
A truck loomed impossibly close, its horn blaring a deafening warning. The sound echoed through the car, vibrating inside their chests.
Then… impact.
A violent crash, the sickening crunch of steel against steel, glass shattering in glittering shards, and the smell of smoke and burning rubber filled the air. The car twisted, rolled, and slammed into the unforgiving road.
William's vision swam. Pain shot through him in waves. Emily screamed, a high-pitched wail that ripped through the metal cage of the car.
"Mom!" William tried to cry out, but the words caught in his throat as the world tilted sideways.
Silence. Then a horrifying shout — guttural, desperate, echoing across the wreckage.
The flames began to lick the edges of the car, smoke curling like black tendrils. William's small hands clawed at the seat, trying to reach his sister and mother. But the metal had trapped them, twisted, unyielding.
Time fractured into a series of sharp, fragmented moments: Emily's balloon drifting uselessly, the glint of sunlight off shards of glass, the burning heat creeping closer, his father's protective arms flung helplessly.
And then… everything went black..this was just like a nightmare non thought that would happen.