I was seven years old and walking home from school. Just as I neared my street, I got a tight, uncomfortable feeling in my middle. I felt the urge to look for something, but I had no idea what.
When I turned the corner, I anxiously looked at the middle of the street. Nothing.
I felt relieved. I was okay for the rest of the day. I played with my doll, romped with my puppy, and watched TV until my parents got home. Nothing unusual.
But the next day, it happened again. As soon as I could see down my street, I checked the middle of the road for something.
This kept up for a full two weeks. Then one day, I what I'd been looking for was there.
Blood in the middle of the street. A dark wide puddle that looked like it was still wet.
Without being told, I knew my puppy had been hit by a car.