A possible book beginning

This situation has been on my mind for so long, perhaps I should write it

There’s not much to be done by now; the squeak of the tires foresees the unavoidable, although his body is still trying madly to turn the car away from the looming bus, which speeds toward the smash. Right hand frenetically pushing the gear to first, left hand turns the wheel to the end with a clacking, foot can’t sink more onto the brake, no matter how much force the entire leg applies. In the middle of survival actions that come about automatically, instinctively, his eyes focus on the driver destined to crash with him in a moment. It’s a 50 year-old bus driver perhaps, in a panic doing everything he can to avoid the accident; hears the passengers behind him screaming, like he screams, even though he doesn’t notice. These two men have never seen each other before, or maybe have already seen, but what does it matter? In the car, Gonçalo thinks at the speed of a thousand thoughts per second in the stupidity of this accident. His own car, the hysterical bus driver, the idiotic way in each he tried to overtake, when he wasn’t even in a hurry, sound like a shameless situation that was already destined to be even before his birth. On the other side, the bus driver acts purely by instinct. Blinkless eyes, muscles strained waiting for the clash, hands grappling firmly the wheel pushing his body against the seat. If the driver thought clearly for one second, he would conclude that in this position his arms will be broken immediately by the impact. There’s not much logic in the driver’s mind and his arms remain stretched like sticks. Once again, if there was any logic in his mind, he would wonder why is Gonçalo’s face so calm. How’s it possible for that face to be so peaceful while the world is being torn apart in 20 meters of asphalt, in a sunny day of some Winter. For Gonçalo, it’s as good a day to crash head-on with a bus as any other and would like to discuss it thoroughly with the bus driver in some café, in which both could order a soda or a hot coffee. “Mr. Driver, you’ll agree with me surely that dying today or tomorrow isn’t that important in the great play of life. Or does the Mr. Driver think that it would be today or tomorrow when you’d finally find the key to your self-fulfillment? You see, it’s inescapable for us to crash head-on and I only feel sorry for it not happening before”. That’s what Gonçalo’s thinking, inside his rattle trap he likes to call a car.