"Venna. Venna."
I called her name looking at her upside down, the roof of the car underneath my shoulders, the road where the sky should have been.
The world had turned over and stayed there. Glass glittered across the inverted ceiling in small, bright shards. The seatbelt dug hard across my chest. My own blood was warm against the side of my face where the window had come in.
She wasn't answering. Her eyes were closed and her hair hung down toward the ceiling in a loose blue curtain, and her body swayed gently in the belt with the last residual movement of the crash.
It had happened in under two seconds. That was the part my head couldn't catch up with. One moment a key going into an ignition and a joke about seatbelts, and now this—the entire geometry of the world reversed and broken.
My eyes moved past her.
