Overreacting

Flames explode from the hood of my car and I am knocked backward by the force, tears shooting out of the corners of my eyes. After sliding backwards on the ground for about ten feet I attempt to stand up shakily, blood warming my left palm as it streams down my forearm. The car is a black, twisted wreck, and it looks like an episode of Myth Busters. I walk forward in shock, saying repeatedly, “You’re overreacting; it’s not that bad; you’re overreacting, overreacting, overreact—”