I was playing at the bottom of the driveway with some toys and he kept coming around bothering me, so I threw one of the toys across the street and pretended that I thought it was just a rock. When I "realized" that it wasn't, I sent him across to get it so he'd leave me alone for a few seconds. He ran over to get it, in the process running behind a car that was parked along the curb. When he ran back out from behind it, another car was coming down the street and hit him. I tried to yell at him to stop and stay where he was in that split few seconds before it happened, but I guess I was so frantic that he didn't understand what I was trying to tell him. He just kept running towards me. I remember he finally stopped and looked at me right in the eye with a look that communicated, "I'm starting to understand that you want me to do something other than what I'm doing and your tone of voice is scaring me a little bit" for one split second before the car hit him. He tumbled down the street, 20 feet maybe, I don't know for sure. I was little and not good at estimating that sort of thing. The lady who hit him was completely freaked out and actually came into our house to complete the 911 call, insisting that my mother and I go outside and tend to my brother.
He was really REALLY shy at that age and wouldn't ever talk to strangers, even if spoken to, so when the EMT started asking him questions, I had to explain to the EMT that he's like that anyway, and tried to encourage my brother to answer him. I don't think he ever did, but he sure was looking around with wide eyes. The lady who hit him followed us to the hospital as the woman driving the ambulance confided in me that she'd seen worse and she thought he'd be just fine. It made me feel better, but I was still scared. What calmed me more than anything else was the fact that they didn't run lights and siren back to the hospital. I figured they must know what they're doing. Dad left work immediately and showed up at the hospital not long after we got there. Turned out my brother only got scrapes and bruises and that sort of thing. They released him the same day and we took a picture of him with all his wounds and bandages and stuff. I think he got lucky, and fortunately I was smart enough never to really feel any guilt over what had happened, although there certainly was the opportunity for me to.