Temporary Bliss

Temporary Bliss

*

She opened her eyes, blinking back the warm red liquid that seeped into her vision. The front windshield of the convertible was gone. Tiny shards of glass littered the roof of the car, creating a sea of diamonds below her. Pretty diamonds, capturing the moon's milky light and breaking it into every color imaginable, all yellows, blues, greens, and purples. Her arms dangled above her head, delicately brushing the shards. Somehow, the cassette player, which was playing Elvis Presley, had survived the crash. She loved Elvis, loved dancing to his songs and belting them out at the top of her lungs, but right then, his sauve voice was making her foggy mind pound like a hammer in her head.

The warm Georgian night became black as a pillar of smoke billowed into the air.

"Randy?" she croaked, struggling fruitlessly to make out the features of her boyfriend through the thickening smoke. Her throat was as dry as the Sahara Desert and her voice was course and raspy with the effort of talking, but she tried again, louder this time, trying to combat the hysteria that tainted her tone. "Randy!"

He didn't answer.

She reached out a pale, bloodied hand to the spot where his shoulder was supposed to be, the passenger side of the car. It wasn't there. Nothing was there. She reached further and further, silently praying that this was some sort of sick dream and that Randy was really at the café with his friends, plugging coins into the jukebox. Randy was fine. She was fine. Randy's new '69 convertible was fine. Soon she would open her eyes to find her mother whispering for her to wake up, her warm hand on her shoulder, and in turn she would beg for five more minutes. This was a nightmare and  everything was fine.

But then the thick, suffocating smoke subsided, clearing the air where she batted at pure nothingness. Her breath caught in her throat. This wasn't a dream. There, hunched in an uncomfortable looking angle, half in his seat and half out, was Randy. His lips were parted, his brilliant blue eyes were wide, his dark hair was matted with wet blood—and a shard of glistening glass was lodged in his neck.

"Oh, God," she whispered, staring at the blood that streaked down his paling skin and stained his  favorite button-down a ghastly crimson. He was dead. He was dead and it was all her fault. She killed him. Hot, stinging tears spilled down her face as sobs racked her body.

But then he twitched. She slowly dragged a hand across her face and watched with naive hope. It was weak, shallow, but his chest rose and fell, rose and fell in a way that could only mean one thing: the crash hadn't killed him. Not yet. While she was bawling her eyes out, he was fighting for his life—and winning. For now.

"Hang on, Randy. I'm going to find help. Stay with me for just a moment longer."

Her whole body howled with pain as she grabbed onto the seat-belt and pushed the button. The strap came loose with a satisfying click and suddenly she was falling, smashing into the shards of glass below her. The pain she was already experiencing increased tenfold, and she laid there, limp, gasping pitifully. But one look at Randy empowered her. She breathed out the filthiest curse she knew, one she learned when her father yelled it upon discovering that he had forgotten the house keys at the grocery store several years before, and rolled onto her belly so that she could crawl out of the jagged exit the broken windshield provided her.

The smoke was thickening, forcing its way down her burning throat and into her battered lungs, and she paused, doubling over to cough and cough and cough. It hurt a lot, too much, but she knew she couldn't sacrifice her wellbeing—or Randy's for that matter—to appease her aching body. The shards bit into her palms and knees, leaving a bloody trail behind her as she inched towards her escape.

Climbing out was the hardest part. She stumbled more than once, and the skirt of her dress  snagged against the windshield, holding her back. By then, Randy's loud gasps were being replaced by...nothing. He was doing nothing. His chest failed to move, his eyes failed to blink—but the blood, the blood surrounded him, entombed him like the sea. He was drowning in it. No! Desperate, she yanked as hard as she could, again and again, until the glass finally shredded through her dress and freed her. Her shoulder slammed into the tree, causing her to cry out, and, whimpering, she stumbled away from the burning, smoking hunk of metal into the warm Georgian night.

She collapsed to her knees a few yards away and gasped for breath, her vision wavering. Her mouth tasted like copper pennies and she spat out, red saliva splattering the tall blades of grass. In, out—in, out. She couldn't see, couldn't think, couldn't do anything except breathe and pray to God. The pounding in her head swelled, threatening to consume her, and at that moment, all she wanted to do was sleep. She closed her eyes, slowly wiping away the warm red liquid that was once again seeping into her vision. Head wound. She had to find help for Randy if not for herself...

For the first time in a long time, she found herself wishing someone would invent mobile telephones. Because she had no clue where she was and no clue where to even begin searching for help. And considering the large amount of blood streaking down her face, they didn't have much time left either.