Countdown to NaNo Warm-Up #3 -- The Near Year's Resolution

Ten Creative Writing Prompts in Ten Days
Eight days until NaNo!

The New Year's Resolution
"Happy New Year!" Alan leaned over to kiss his wife, Marla, before he took another sip of champagne. After another dance with Marla, they left the party and headed home.

"Hey, Al, what do you think your resolution is going to be this year?"
"A resolution? I haven't made a resolution since I was in third grade and my teacher made us write one. That was the same year I decided I hate resolutions."
"Hate resolutions? What?" She laughed. "It's just like making a goal. This year, my resolution to lose 20 pounds."
"Marla, honey. First of all, you can be more creative than that. And second, you don't need to lose even one pound."
Marla laughed again. "Oh Alan. Come on. Make a resolu-- make a goal with me."
"Ok. I resolve to not kill anyone this year."
"Not kill anyone?"
"Well, it should be pretty easy to accomplish."

Two weeks had gone by. Life was returning to normal after the usual holiday craziness. Marla had taken down all of the Christmas decorations. Alan was hiding the last of the cookies from his two children. He was busy at work and knew he would need a little sugar rush when he got home.

He kissed Marla good-bye and headed to work. Alan felt a little dizzy but shook it off and thought to himself that maybe he shouldn't have had that third cup of coffee.

All that he remembers of the rest of that morning was turning right onto Maple Ave and a sharp, hard pain in his head.

He woke up in the hospital. Marla was next to him with her head on the side of the bed. He softly stroked her hair. She sat up.

"Oh Alan!" She hugged him tight. It hurt but he didn't stop her. "I was so worried and scared."
"What happened?"
"You passed out while you were driving to work. You have a broken leg and arm and some cracked ribs. The doctors are running tests to find out the cause."
"Did I hit a tree?"
"No."
"A street sign then?"
"No." She looked away. She couldn't look him in the eyes.
"Marla. Tell me what happened after I passed out."
"You hit a pedestrian on the sidewalk. His name was John Milner. He was 79 years old and out for his daily walk."
"Was? Honey, what did I do?" He was shaking because he already knew the answer.
"He died yesterday."