To Warm Frozen Fingers // A Short Story Collection

Day Seven: Lights Ahead

Write about not being able to see ahead of you.

The fog was almost blinding, it was so thick. Francesca swerved around the curb, not seeing it until it was almost too late. It was almost a blessing that she was on the quiet country roads, on her way to see her elderly parents, and not in the city with her fiancé, where it was almost always busy, and they heard sirens every day.

She turned the radio down, hoping that one sense not in use would heighten the others. She didn't know if it did or not, but she leaned forward in her car seat, surveying the world ahead through straining eyes.

Really, she should have stayed at the Holiday Inn at the last service station, but her mum had promised hot chocolate and a large bowl of soup when she arrived. Francesca wasn't going to take anything else above her mum's hot soup. She just hoped she didn't kill herself trying to get to it.

It was getting later. She glanced quickly at the clock on the dash and had to look back again almost instantly, as she'd looked too quickly she hadn't seen the time. It'd still be about 20 minutes to her parents' place. About 30 in the fog; the country roads would change into a large, lit dual carriageway soon enough, and Francesca could go a bit faster than the merely 25 she was managing on the otherwise 40-limit road.

She turned another corner, and leant back. Up ahead, there was another car's headlights, so she could kind of see where she was going. Well, she could see where the edge of the road was, in any case. It was when she realised that the car's headlights weren't coming towards her as she towards it and they were tilted to the outside of the road, that she thought something might be wrong.

She slowed down to a crawl and finally a halt once she was a decent way past the car. Putting on her hazards, she got out, slipping on her thick winter coat and trudging to the other car. "Hello?" she called once she was in about 10 steps. "Is anyone there? Are you all right?"

"Help..." a measly little voice whispered back. "Please..."

"Oh my!" Francesca yelped when she walked around the back of the car and saw the voice's owner, a youthful looking boy splayed on the side of the road. His leg was clearly broken, Francesca could see that, and she tried to not retch as she saw the sheer amount of blood in dark sheets around the boy, illuminated partially by the car's interior lights from the open door.

She lit up her phone and nearly had to turn about to be sick. She could see the boy's bones in his leg, and something muscular in his abdomen. "I hit the tree," he said weakly.

"I can see that," she said in shock, surveying the car which had crumpled around the tree it had hit. Miraculously, its lights were still on although the engine was beginning to fail.

"I couldn't see it," he said, as if protesting his case. "It just... appeared."

"It's okay," she soothed, ducking down and removing her old, knitted scarf. She pressed it to his stomach, and, with her other hand, phoned for an ambulance, ignoring his flinching body under him. "I'm phoning for help."

"Miss?" he asked, as she pressed the phone to her ear.

"Yes?" she replied.

"I can't see..." he trailed off, and that was when she looked to his face. Oh, God. A large shard of glass had clearly cut across his eyes. She tried hard, again, not to vomit and was almost successfully, swallowing it back down. "Please don't leave me. I can't see," he repeated. He was almost calm with the matter.

"I can see that," she murmured. "Everything's going to be okay." She breathed shakily. "We'll get you help."

"Thank you, miss," the boy said again, and leant back on the cold earth. She furried around in his car, found another scarf, and tied it around his eyes. Whether it was to cover his gruesome appearance or actually help him, she didn't know. She didn't want to look into herself to find out.

Not a particularly pleasant story, I'll give you that! Sorry for the gruesomeness.

Votes and comments are appreciated!!