Sam slowly opened his eyes. The world was obscured by his fluttering eyelids and the blood streaming down his face. Dazed, he tried to find his bearings, shock absorbing the pain he did not yet feel.
What is that noise? He cautiously looked to his left to see the profile of his best friend slumped over on the steering wheel, his weight causing the horn to blare.
A crowd began to gather around the macabre scene, human nature finding the intrigue too difficult to resist. Their hushed gasps harmonized with the blaring horn and the crunch of the glass beneath their feet.
"Call 911!" Sam whispered, attempting to scream, but the sirens could already be heard approaching in the distance.
"Hold on, Mark," he said, painfully stretching out his bloodied hand to touch the still figure. Mark offered no response.
Sam's heart began to race. His senses began to return. Reality swept over him like floodwaters bursting over a levee.
"Maaaaaaaaaark!" he screamed, empathy straining his vocal chords. He pulled his lifeless friend off of the steering wheel, his body slumping backwards as helplessly as it had forwards.
He unbuckled his seat belt and shoved open his crumpled car door. He fell out onto the pavement, a pensive crowd holding their breath. He rose to his feet and staggered in circles, but his body was less willing than his mind. He sat back down on the road and surveyed the scene. It turns out an '05 Monte Carlo is no match for a century-old maple.
He slowly reclined until his throbbing skull was resting on the unforgiving blacktop. He ran his hand through his hair and found the source of the blood that continued to bead on his cheeks. He felt warm flesh as his fingers plunged into the laceration that followed his hairline.
The world began to darken again. He could hear shouting. He could see the EMTs fighting through the crowd to get to him. He could feel the life slowly slipping from his once-virile 18-year-old body. His eyes moved backwards in his skull and images began racing through his mind. Summer days on the baseball diamond near his house. Snowy Christmas mornings with his family. The girl he never had the courage to ask out. Fond memories. Regrets. Good friends. Bad decisions. His eyes shot open as a burning pain rippled through his ribcage. A stranger hunched over him, breathing life into his lungs.
The back of an ambulance. Sirens.
Surgical masks and bright lights.
Blood. So much blood.
Flatline. Defibrillator paddles.
Life.
Alive, but never the same.
What is that noise? He cautiously looked to his left to see the profile of his best friend slumped over on the steering wheel, his weight causing the horn to blare.
A crowd began to gather around the macabre scene, human nature finding the intrigue too difficult to resist. Their hushed gasps harmonized with the blaring horn and the crunch of the glass beneath their feet.
"Call 911!" Sam whispered, attempting to scream, but the sirens could already be heard approaching in the distance.
"Hold on, Mark," he said, painfully stretching out his bloodied hand to touch the still figure. Mark offered no response.
Sam's heart began to race. His senses began to return. Reality swept over him like floodwaters bursting over a levee.
"Maaaaaaaaaark!" he screamed, empathy straining his vocal chords. He pulled his lifeless friend off of the steering wheel, his body slumping backwards as helplessly as it had forwards.
He unbuckled his seat belt and shoved open his crumpled car door. He fell out onto the pavement, a pensive crowd holding their breath. He rose to his feet and staggered in circles, but his body was less willing than his mind. He sat back down on the road and surveyed the scene. It turns out an '05 Monte Carlo is no match for a century-old maple.
He slowly reclined until his throbbing skull was resting on the unforgiving blacktop. He ran his hand through his hair and found the source of the blood that continued to bead on his cheeks. He felt warm flesh as his fingers plunged into the laceration that followed his hairline.
The world began to darken again. He could hear shouting. He could see the EMTs fighting through the crowd to get to him. He could feel the life slowly slipping from his once-virile 18-year-old body. His eyes moved backwards in his skull and images began racing through his mind. Summer days on the baseball diamond near his house. Snowy Christmas mornings with his family. The girl he never had the courage to ask out. Fond memories. Regrets. Good friends. Bad decisions. His eyes shot open as a burning pain rippled through his ribcage. A stranger hunched over him, breathing life into his lungs.
The back of an ambulance. Sirens.
Surgical masks and bright lights.
Blood. So much blood.
Flatline. Defibrillator paddles.
Life.
Alive, but never the same.
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