The shrieking of tires. The crushing of metal. The shattering of glass. It all echoed in her ears. The flash of headlights. The scarlet of blood. The blackness. It all flooded her mind.
Now she lay in empty silence, pinned under the crushed metal and broken glass. She heard no sound from the others. They were dead. She could feel nothing. Her body had become numb from so much pain. Her vision was foggy. All she could see were dark, fuzzy outlines. Her head was swimming. She could barely concentrate on anything.
Yet amid the detachment, she knew. She knew all that blood was hers and she had lost too much of it. She knew she was trapped under the car with no way out. She knew help wouldn't come; there was nobody to call. She knew her fate was the same as the others' had been. She knew she was going to die.
She slipped her eyes shut, ready to let go. Her ears picked up on the gentle breeze rustling through the leaves, and the distant scent of rushing water filled her nose. Cold tears slid down her cheeks and mixed with the smeared blood on her face. This was it. This was her ending.
2 comments:
Is this a product of imagination, dreams, morbid study, or something freaky?
Just curious.
This actually is another book that I'm going to write after my first. I told Dad the plot line and he was mad when he found out that it wasn't written yet. So I wrote this part of it for him to satisfy him for the time being.
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