I'm sorry

I'm sorry

A Story by Louise

I keep my eyes closed. The car hit something, it did, I swear. The humming of the engine has stopped. I can't tell what exactly happened. I just sit tight in my seat thanking the god, that I do not believe in, for still being able to breathe. The seat belt has burned its pattern into my chest, or so it feels like, and I can sense how the front of the car is tipping, not resting entirely on the road. 
I force myself to take a small glimpse of the outside world. At first I see tires. Two. On the road, just lying there. Then I see oil and pieces of metal, pieces of car spread all over. I see my own reflection in the windshield but hardly recognize myself. I hardly recognize any of it. This world is different. New to me, but so obviously used and already spoiled. A smell of oil is in the air tonight. 

The seat belt slithers back into the side of the car as I unplug it and open the door and leave my heavily armored savior behind. The smell is getting thicker and so is my guilt and the shame and the pounding in my head promising me that something was most definitely struck by this man made killer machine as I had reached for my phone when it rang. It isn't ringing anymore. The only sound is the sound of blood pumping in my veins and out of my thigh. 
It only appears to me now. That I'm hurt. That I've broken my own body and that no one is asking if I'm okay or is demanding to be asked the same in return by hurling screams at the moon and the stars. No screaming, only pulsating. 
My thoughts are everywhere and nowhere. I can't gather them because there is none to gather, there's only a void.
Not even as I survey the area with my eyes does anything strike me. There's pure nothing and for a moment I start believing that this is what being dead feels like. Right until I see the body, almost tugged away at the side of the road.
My legs fail me as I stumble towards the body. I'm reduced to crawling the last few meters between us. The nausea comes when a similarity hits me. Then another. Then a third.
And I finally understand, as I turn the body's head to have a look at the poor thing, that this is what it feels like to be dead.

© 2013 Louise

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"Thanking the god, that I do not believe in" For some reason I really love this line.

Posted 6 Years Ago

Interesting. I would like to read more if you continue it. The sentence, 'and that no one is asking if I'm okay or is demanding to be asked that in return by hurling screams at the moon and the stars' doesn't make sense to me. Otherwise, it's very good.

Posted 10 Years Ago

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2 Reviews
Added on July 2, 2013
Last Updated on October 1, 2013
Tags: car crash, panic, slice of life, short prose




I'm Louise. Short prose is my preferred way of writing, though all lengths of stories appeal to me as reads. In elementary school I learned to love making stories up, in high school I learned to .. more..

About rain; About rain;

A Story by Louise