Under Wings of Grace (Discontinued)

1 - Calls Me Home

1 - Calls Me Home

Just a minute ago, she gazed pensively at the beautiful afternoon scenery as it whizzed by the backseat window.

Just a minute ago, she toyed with her seatbelt, running her finger along the smooth edges of the polyester straps. For whatever reason, it soothed her.

Just a minute ago, she anticipated the switch of the streetlight from red to green.

Just a minute ago, she watched a seagull's unsuccessful attempt to lift a few bread crumbs from the sidewalk.

Just a minute ago, she enveloped her jacket around herself to avoid the chilliness that lingered in the air.

Just a minute ago, she glanced into the eyes of a mysterious looking man with tattoos reaching from the base of his cheek to the tip of his temple.

Just a minute ago, she was safe.

...But then again, a minute has 60 seconds which can turn into an eternity.

She fought to keep her breakfast in her stomach as the car gyrated in the air as if it were an orca completing its trick on cue. Her head snapped backward, slamming hard against the headrest as the four-door did somersaults. She gasped, the pain in her head made her skull pound.

The left side of the shiny blue Ford hatchback teetered on its side like a confused seesaw. She felt an unforgiving gust of wind extend its fingers to grab her, but it missed, and ever so gently, it tipped the scale.

The bonnet crashed down on the asphalt. Metal screeching against metal howled a deafening sound, resembling nails scraping along an old school chalkboard. Screaming, she shielded her eardrums from the horrid noise.

The car windows, once shielding her from Mother Nature's weather tantrums, shattered into fragments, leaving a trail of glass splinters and broken bits on the ceiling.

The roof of the car served as a barrier from the black rocks and pebbles crushed beneath her.

The airbag had slapped her in the temple, forcing her head into the window, and she thought her brain was going to burst from the throbbing headache. Her head pulsed all over, she didn't know what to cradle first, every part was in excruciating pain.

The seatbelt, she thanked God for choosing to wear, was the only piece of the wreck accomplishing its intended job, but at the moment, it was slicing into her stomach. It wasn't helping the nausea whirling and bubbling inside.

She felt like an opossum, hanging upside down, her hair tickled the shards visible and invisible below her. Reaching up, her palm pressed against the ceiling. Several glass pieces jabbed her skin and she gritted her teeth from the sharp sting. Clenching her jaw together, she pushed the eject on the seat belt buckle, and gravity overtook her straight away. Her other hand flashed out to catch her weight while her feet and knees slammed down. Her body was shaking and she couldn't stop her laboured breaths.The jagged window sat there, beckoning her, awaiting her escape. The silent call was oh so inviting.

Crawling to the barrier between herself and the front seats, she felt the stabbing pain jabbing at her side. It stung and made her pant like a dog. But the pain was bearable; it wasn't the worst she endured. Heading eagerly to the outdoors, something caught her view.

The cracked rear view mirror was caked in blood and the walls were an art gallery canvas patterned with a grand display of a crimson splatter. She investigated whom the red liquid belonged to.

Her eyes went wide in shock. "Oh my God!" she shrieked. "No! Help, somebody help!" Tears leapt to her lashes and stormed down her cheeks. As she sobbed, her chest tightened and her stomach knotted. Her hands clawed at her hairline.