Jack undid the seatbelt and his head came clanging into the roof. He had managed to gain some orientation but it only then he fully realized, that the car was turned over. The chassis, the door, the overall posture of the car was wrung like wet dishcloth. With his neck propping the rest of his body, he begun to lift his knee and stab his foot aimlessly around the interior of the car. He had some sense of perspective now, yet his focus still had rendered everything gooey. After launching into the foot mat and dashboard a few times, he managed to kick open the door. If it wasn't for it catching in the crushed curves of its own demise, the door would have fully swung open.
Throwing his shoulder into the door, just above the handle, Jack managed to partially loosen the door. He freed the rest of the door by heaving through his chest and arms. His legs looped over his head and fell to the ground as he rolled out of the car. Jack laid there momentarily, resting his head in the sand, his head half cocked looking into the car. He tried to focus once again by blinking a few times. Still blurry. The little bits of gravel and sand rubbed against the side of his cheek as he flexed on the balls of his feet. The gripping on his shoes slipped a few times, before he managed to pick himself. He moved slowly towards the headlights, still illuminated after the crash.
It was so dark, only a moon shadow and those headlights, casting a few meters in front of the car. His eyes beginning to focus now as he could make the shrubs and collection of rocks which amassed around the car. Smoke still drifting, less so now, from the bonnet. Jack stood his with knees resting on the grill of the car. This formation had an affinity for a surrealist photographer's wet dream. Jack standing there, peering into the car, trying to find Parka, through the windscreen which had been shattered into 1000 snowflakes. His ankles and legs were pricked white from the headlights. Hunching over, with his arms crossed and his nose bouncing towards the hood of the car, he peered in. "FUCK," yelling under his breath, in some kind of self-reflection, "FUCK, FUCK...FUCKING HELL."
Jack marched around to the other side, bumping into the car, to orientate himself. He crouched down, craning his head through the side window. "HEY, HEY...PARKA!" Jack released from sandpapery throat. No response. Trying to release the door, which jammed more into the dirt for every millimeter it moved out, Jack managed to regain more focus on Parka's head. Parka's black hair suspended in the air, mopping the roof. A caterpillar of blood running from his