Cold breath fills my lungs. The snow does not stop. I can't reach my phone. I don't feel my legs. The windows are all shattered. What do I do now? I'm miles from anything important. There is no traffic here. No one will find me. I can't feel my legs. Another col breath; in, out. Snow pours into the car. I realize I'm upside down. My seatbelt is still still buckled. I can't reach the latch. I can't feel my legs. Oh my God, my legs. I can't feel my legs. There's warmth on my neck. Is it my head bleeding? I start seeing black spots. I don't want to die. Please don't let me die.
A flashlight shines from behind. Oh God please help me. Please please please please please. "Help me!" I croak, hoarsely. "I can't feel my legs." The light shines on me. It must be really bad. His face is like stone.
"Hang on, I'm calling help."
Minutes tick by painfully slow. At last I hear them. Sirens wailing in the distance. I still see black spots. The sirens are getting closer. The snow is still falling. I can't feel my legs.
YOU ARE READING
The Writing Rock
General FictionAs a member of a writing club, I end up with several short pieces and nothing to do with them so this book is dedicated to that. I won't be publishing everything I write, but if it isn't terrible, it'll probably end up here.
