The End of Faith

A short story about Death. Isn't that lovely?

            The passive mind of a child is the bliss I envy.  Not knowing, not caring, only fearing the next day. I am trapped in the chaotic grasp of reality.  Everyday there is fear, everyday there is abandonment and the sickening feeling of defeat.  This is the world I am controlled by, I have been put in a maze and the world is watching my every move.  At any moment in my life I could die, I could be forced to face the one thing I am scared of. Death.

            When I was the child I loathe now, I had no knowledge of how tragic death could be; no sense of loss. It wasn’t until I was twelve years, three months, and fifteen days old that I realized how close Death lingered over my veil.  On December 14^th, 2000 I tasted the lips of Death and the bitterness still taints my skin today.  On that day the roads were icy, the fog was thick and my family and I were driving home from a family reunion.  We were on the highway, I was reading in the backseat. Suddenly, I heard the screech of the tires, I felt the jerk of our van, I saw the road was no longer beneath us.  Then there was black, the calm and quiet nothingness I was soaked into.  I wasn’t sure if I was dead or unconscious. Part of me wanted the broken windshield to be the last thing I ever saw.  I regret now that I lived through that, because when I awoke the first thing I saw was an ambulance coming toward our car.  I saw the flashing lights through a shattered windshield, but the one thing I noticed was the blood on the dashboard.  I went ballistic; I was crying, trying to get myself out of my seat.  I clawed at the seatbelt, all rational thoughts escaped me.  I was fighting for survival.

            The doctors later told me that I hyperventilated and fainted again after that because the next thing I remember was waking up to a nurse checking my IV.

            “Oh good you’re awake!  You’re quite lucky to be alive, sweetie,” the nurse smiled.  I hate being called sweetie.

            “Where’s my mom?  My dad?” I asked tiredly.  The nurse bowed her head and sighed.   

            “You see, sweetie, they weren’t so lucky,” she sat on the edge of my bed and took my hand, “Your father was already dead when the paramedics arrive, and your mother passed away about two hours ago due to head trauma.  I’m so sorry, honey.”

            I wasn’t sure that I had heard her correctly, “What?”

            “Sweetie, both of your parents are dead,” she said it bluntly; it was the only way that I would’ve understood. I felt like I was in a dream; I shook my head, “Your aunt is on her way here, she’ll deal with your guardian arrangements when she arrives.”

            “Don’t call me sweetie” I whispered.

            “We have grief counseling if you need it and some of the bills will be covered by a local charity,” the nurse continued not hearing my remark, “You’re going to need to get some rest, can I get you anything, sweetheart?”

            I was blank, a cloud stalked my mind and I could not think.  I mumbled something and the nurse, who took the hint, got up and left.  I was alone, in the room, in my mind. Everywhere. 

            I guess I was lucky to survive the crash with just a cracked skull and a broken leg, some religious freaks said that God didn’t want me to leave Earth, yet.  He had a plan for me.  What a load of bullshit, I guess God didn’t stop to think that my parents might’ve had a plan.  They might’ve had a plan for me, a plan for themselves.  Now I’ll never know what their plan was, I’ll never know anything else about their future.

            So here I am, ten years after the accident, waiting for my plane to load the passengers.  I’m on my way to Boston, my hometown, so I can visit my parents’ tomb.  I haven’t been to Boston since I left for college, and frankly I never want to visit there again after this trip.  My flight has been delayed for half of an hour because of engine troubles. Isn’t that comforting?

            “All passengers boarding Flight 493�"“the intercom informed me, I automatically stood up and went in line.

  A few moments later I was sitting on the plane and my carry-on bag was in the compartment above my head.  It wasn’t long before we were off the ground, flying through the air.  I decided to close my eyes and just listen to sound of us penetrated the winter air.

I awoke to the shake of the plane. Turbulence? I thought, That’s weird, we’ve been in the air for a while now.  There was another violent shake and several passengers gasped out of fear.  I looked around for an explanation, but all of the stewardesses were in the cockpit.  S**t, I hope it’s just turbulence, I thought.  The plane jerked downwards and I heard the sound of something breaking off of the plane.  All of the oxygen masks fell down from the ceiling.

The pilot’s voice came on the intercom, “We are experiences engine troubles and we need to conduct an emergency landing.  Everyone please fasten your seatbelts and prepare for a rough landing.  God help us all.”

            People started panicking, children began to cry while their mothers tried to remain calm and tell them what to do.  I was in utter shock, I couldn’t think.  Really? How can this be happening to me?  I thought, How typical that my life ends like this.

Then plane was now tumbling down, I just closed my eyes and thought of my parent’s smiling faces.  I thought of everything I have accomplished and everything I would have accomplished.  I realized that no one has a plan; no one has ever had a plan for me or my parents.  We just suffer from luck, no one makes our decisions.  In my last moments, I truly believed that there wasn’t a God waiting for me.  I truly believed I would die alone.  But the last thing I saw was my parents, they were reaching out to me, and I grabbed their hands.  They took me out of the plane and they took me into the sky.

Reviews

[Hidden_identity]

I really like this story. It is very gripping. I really enjoyed the first paragraph. This whole story is very emotional but yet not too emotional. Personally I think that Boston is cursed, at least for her. First, a car crash and her parents died. Then when she was going back, plane problems. Sounds cursed to me.