Leah was on her way to school with her father driving her. She was excited to see Kiera again. She did the normal routine of chatting merrily to her father as he drove.
"Do you think that my math teacher will give us a lot of homework? He seems to have something against my class." Her father knew all about the situation. He was glad that the teacher never picked on Leah, but was also upset that the teacher would always pick on Kiera. Kiera was like a daughter to him, and he hated that the teacher was bias.
"He shouldn't. It's only your first week back to school," he explained. He smoothly moved his hand to turn on the left signal before making a left turn.
She thought about it before accepting the reply and slumping back on the passenger seat of the car.
Suddenly, her father's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles whitened, and he jammed down on the brake forcefully. The car skidded forward and she lurched forward in her seat. A truck slammed into the driver's side of the car, the window shattering into a rainfall of sharp glass shards, a small number of them piercing into Leah's skin.
But nothing could be sharper than her piercing screams.
The car flipped. The car slammed harshly into the rough ground. She heard everything, and then nothing. Nothing but her gut-wrenching sobs.
Blood trickled down her hands from the tiny wounds. She could feel the stinging pain at the side of her head.
But it was not as gruesome or painful as the sight that laid in front of her.
Blood was gushing out of the side of her father's head. His shoulder seemed to be popped out of place. His body was full of shards sticking out at all angles. His head lolled at every impact. His eyes were closed--seemingly not planning on opening ever again.
She struggled to breathe. Furthermore, her hands could not stop shaking. She brought her hands to her seatbelt buckle. Click. It unbuckled. She then brought her hands over to her father's buckle. Click. It unbuckled. She tried to carry the weight of her father out the car. She was determined but scared. She had a goal so big, but she felt so small. It was nearly impossible for her to carry her father's weight, but she did it.
There were people standing around the car. Most of them panicking. Some had the sense to call for help or to try and help. She struggled out the car. She was exhausted. Oh, so exhausted. But she could not give up yet.
She did it! She laid her father gingerly onto the ground before slumping onto it. But there was no sense of accomplishment, only dread. Dread for what was to come. Everything was blurred, she felt numb. She did not know how much time passed. But silhouettes of people walked past, picking up her father, carrying her, trying to calm her down so as to stop her tears. She could not stand them; the pitying gazes of people.
She did not need their pity. She was strong, she would survive this. She did not need their pity. She was fine, her father would be fine. She did not need their pity. She was not sobbing anymore.
She and her father were rushed to the hospital. Mostly because of her father, but partly because she was about to black out, and was slipping in and out of consciousness. Nevertheless, the driver of the ambulance was speeding, swiftly gliding between lanes to get on the fastest route to the hospital.
Her heart seemed to be beating really quickly, or maybe really slowly, she could not tell. She seemed to be panicking but had no strength to panic. She was weak.
She hoped that everything would turn out fine.
