Survival

Where am I?
She awoke, strenuously, her waxed closed eyes burning, then let out a slightly embarrassing, gag....
The pain was breathtaking, unfathomable...as if tiny knives were being plunged into her skin, her gut stomach twisting and flipping, like a helpless fished thrusted out of the security of water....
Before she could begin to blink away the blurriness, clear up her vision, and finally observe her surroundings, she slowly rolled over to her right side, like a fat walrus, and vomited, a warm, yet revolting substance running down from the corners of her mouth to her chin. Blood, she immediately assumed. Her throat felt as though boiled water had sizzled down the surface of it, her chest deliberately stinging with unexplainable agony, and wondered, quizzically, if a glob of fire were crackling on it. It only made sense. What else could it have been? Mushed food? She hadn't eaten in who know how long? Isolated. Her body, paralyzed with shock, was in a secluded spot in the middle of what seemed to be a large forest.
Great, she rolled her eyes then attempted, almost experimentally, to lay on her back, her throat tightening a short second after the back of her head made contact with the damp earth. Blood pumped, incredulously, making her nauseated, and she was lost in the midst of a deafening buzzing, as if little creatures, she imagined them shrunken humans with no lives, were banging the sides of her ears, using them as a drum surface. Her heart thrashed against her rib cage, tantum ously, the idea that it would burst through her chest at any given moment glazed her numb face with a layer of sweat, glittering beneath the silver sun like a layer of lizard skin.
Her heart would explode. She was sure of it. In a couple of minutes...seconds...
But she needed her heart! The heart that kept her alive during soccer games, and stressful school parties. It was imperative that she kept it calm, that she levelled the pace of it. That she controlled her entire body, and kept every piece, despite how unimpressive, intact.
But her eyes, degradingly, remained shut. Her mouth trembled, while she held another glob of spit at the center of her throat, determined to keep this one from flying, and before she could cry out for her mother, something...someone...whispered. The sound was so close, so easily detectable, the child thought this person, she was sure it was a person, had leaned down and hushed, whatever was said, right into her ear, which she still felt a miniature marching band was bashing around inside of it.
"Get up. Quickly."
Get up? Does it see me? The girl thought, because of the bombastic, and rather persistent, in her opinion, thump thump rattling her ear drums, that she had misheard it. Perhaps, even imagined it.
She would not get up. No way. Not until she knew, for certain, what had happened. How she had went from laughing with her father in her bedroom, to isolation. Cluelessness.
Step one. Her eyes had to open, no matter how blinding the sun may be. How could someone resolve the situation they were in, if they didn't have a clue what their situation looked like? Very slowly, the girl, shading her face with her hands, peeled them open slightly. Still blurry. Her world a soup of grey, colorless shades. The darkest colors she vowed to never use in her sketchbooks, or finalized masterpieces.
Open them, you coward!
She clutched strips of grass with her fingers, digging her dubby nails (which she never painted because there was nothing to paint) into the cold dirt, afraid of what she'll discover. Oh, how she wished the plants she held for support were in fact her mother's, or even older brother's, hands. She needed comfort. Help. A form of safety.
One blink. Two blinks. Three blinks. It was like opening your eyes without putting eye drops in, your contacts about to pop off. However, this little girl felt as though her eyeballs were on the verge of popping off, and that scared her even more than the thought of her heart exploding did. What would she do without sight?
She could see. There was no questioning, and even though it wasn't a big deal, the little girl felt her heart leap, a slightly joyful hop, as if her GPA had risen a point higher. She could see. Things were smooth from here on out.
Right?
"Get up. Now. Quickly."
The voice. The whisper. The girl rubbed her head and realized why she had thrown up, which was completely out of character for her. Even on her most stressful days, or three-hours-of-sleep moments, she had always managed to keep whatever her mother had forced her to eat inside her system. A football sized gash, a cut, scraped through her hairline. Crisped blood had stuck against her hair, which made her even more astonished. Peevish.
Give me a minute, sheez! The girl rolled her eyes, feeling no differently than when she was forced around early in the morning by her nana...then realized that she hadn't spoken. Was her voice intact? Rubbing her throbbing throat, the girl let out a hoarse word.
"Hello?"
She could speak. Now, the moment she had been dying to get to. Observation. Annualization. Understanding.
Where was she?
Well, she was on grass, so her first predicament was correct. She imagined herself patting her shoulder, which, though she knew very well how cheesy this is, was what she normally did when small victories came rushing toward her like a blow of Ac in a stuffy ass classroom.
There was a sky, with moist, soaked up clouds, that were so close, she felt as if she could squeeze the remaining liquid out, the same way she did so with the drenched balls of socks in her laundry room. Better yet, and she wasn't sure if this was better, there might have been a slight chance the clumps of air, which looked as if the twilight had died its color into them, could absorb her in as well. She did, after all, feel no different than a squishy sack of water fish were brought home in.
So sky, grass that smelled like a blossomed Easter.... The country?
She gasped, her hair whipping across her eyes, the clouds cut into pieces. A car, or was it a buss? Her avarice, which was tied with her necessity for a tall glass of purified water, to explore, began to itch her legs. And yes, she was a hundred percent certain that it wasn't the pollen. She had to observe her surrounding more clearly, and meticulously. Slowly, she took a quivering breath, kept a secure hand on her scalp, and at the same time cringed at the ominous transformation. Her coffee, with a hinge of milked highlights, colored hair that was usually always pulled back, now felt like wrapped up, collected weeds. Crisp, dead...
She leaned up.
Good job, you're doing great.
The girl had her eyes closed, to mellow the dizziness. Her torpid body needed to be moved steadily, and despite how thirsty she was to get up and get going...she treated herself as if she were a fragile flame in the midst of a blizzard, afraid she'd disappear if she moved too fast. To make her even more motivated, she went ahead and pretended that she was the last match in the box.
Before she knew it, she was on her feet. The agony she had in her bony chest had softened, probably because her stress had died down as well. But she never guessed that her legs would feel as if she had put them through a shredder. They stung. The same way they had when they were eaten to near annihilation by a horde of wasps, that dreadful summer at her grandfather's lake, those many years ago.
Keep it together, she ordered. Yes, she could talk, but she figured she'd better rest her voice, since she'd need to, very soon, perhaps in a couple of minutes or so, scream for a car to stop.
"Wow. That's one bad injury."
She spun around, more like stumbling, if you want to get technical, then spread her arms out to maintain balance. In front of her, standing with extreme pride, along with baffling humor scribbled in all corners of his face...
Was a boy no less butchered than she was.
"You! It was you! Are you trying to make me crack? Do you want to see me turn into a crazy person?"
"That wasn't my intention. I just-"
"What? Are you a stalker or something?"
"Huh? God no. I just, didn't know how to wake you up."
"Sleeping. Did it look like I was sleeping?"
"I didn't know if noises would hurt your head, so I whispered instead." The girl watched as the boy lowered his head, stuffing his hand into his short pockets. A crippling soul. Lost, desperate.
Just like she was.
"Well," the girl shrugged. "I guess I get it. And I'm sorry I was such a pain in the ass just now."
"Something tells me you're not a morning person."
The girl chuckled, allowing herself to drop her tense shoulders.
"What's your name?" She asked, finishing her giggling.
"Michael. You?"
"Gabriella. My best friend, and math team, call me Gabby, however, my mother and pretty much everyone in my family calls me Gabs or El, depending on how mad they are at me, which is normally seldom, because unlike my brother," Gabriella allowed herself to grin," I actually put in the work in everything I do. So...It's up to you, what you wanna call me."
"I think I'll stick with Gabriella," Michael winked.
Gabriella nodded, then turned her attention toward the road.
"What the hell happened?"
"You don't remember?" Michael held himself from laughing again.
"No...I just...I just remember screaming."
"Well," Michael then walked over to Gabriella, gripped her shoulders tenderly, then rotated her in a different direction. She let out a short sob, tears rolling down her pink cheeks afterword. In front of them, two cars were toppled on top of one another, debasing, in between the hedge and the street. "You're luckier than Donald Trump."
Then she remembered. Austin. The trip she was so excited to go on with her math team, for their robotics tournament. The corny, but meaningful One Direction play list her best friend Liz had cranked from start and back. Liz. Her sister. The siss she never had the blessing to have. Elizabeth Cream Sanders. Her creamy bear.
"Liz?" Gabriella choked.
"They're all gone. I was in the car, you know, the one your stupid driver, I think his name was Bill....? Yea, he rammed into me."
Toby, Zoe, Frank, Billy...Liz...gone? Her people...gone?
"No," Gabriella stammered. She remembered, vividly, distinctly, she and Liz meeting for the first time Freshman year. They were inseparable every since.
Well...until now.
Michael held her as she tried to reach out, hoping to rescue one of them, resuscitate them back to life, do some sort of miracle she saw on the T.V dramas she'd watch with her brother, while she did her biology flashcards. Anything, to bring her Liz back. Her study, ice cream munching, Harry Potter Marathons, basically an everything partner, into her arms.
"We have to go, Gabriella. That's why I tried to wake you. They're about to blow up, the cars."
Gabriella didn't hear Michael, nor did she have the slightest desire. "Liz..." she whispered," No...no..."
"NOW!" Michael tackled Gabriella, their world, for a brief second, crackling up in tides of orange, and chunks of brilliant red, as if the sun had thrown up on top of them. Smoke filled her lungs up, fuming as if they were two balloons about to pop...her chest, involuntarily, twisted back into wrenching, spiteful agony. A pain that was impossible to describe without breaking into racking sobs. Her vision blacked out, her body, including the flaming chest she was certain had no heart, numbed...the last thing she remembered was Liz's freckled face...her laugher...a bag of peanuts they shared on the bus ride, going to their next tournament...
****
"I'm alone," was the first thing Gabriella, as she was cradled by Michael, told him. "I'm alone."
"No...you're not."
"All I have are parents who are always gone. Partying. Getting laid by different people. I doubt they're looking for me. Getting arrested from their drinking, waiting for my brother's bail money."
"You can't think of anyone who might have the slightest interest interest about your absence?"
Her brother. Her Tyler. And of course, her Aunt Holiday, who cared so incredibly much about her but was given a restraining order by her sister, but still managed to sneak into Gabriella's window on every birthday, Christmas, and Thanksgiving midnight.
"I thought so. Now, get up and follow me."
Gabriella, now silently crying over Liz, her brother Tyler, her Aunt Holiday, and the disregardment her mother always shoved at her every morning before her bus rides...and usually, when it was a hangover day of his, a bruise or two from her father's knuckles....allowed Michael to pull her up.
"Get up."
"I should've blown up with Liz. What am...what am I going to do? My brother lives in Chicago, and is studying to be a fitness coach. My Aunt Holiday is about to have a baby with Uncle Dave....Liz was the only way out of my house, away from my parents. She....she's gone now..."
"Get up, Gabriella. Now. I know the way."
"Leave me alone to die."
"Gabriella Samantha Carpenter."
Gabriella sat up, her world mushed in a haze of tears, as if she were peering at Michael, quizzically, through fogged glasses.
"How do you know my name?"
Michael looked away, his face unusually greyer, limed, studying a squirrel, who held two pecans on a sycamore branch. His eyes were cast out, like the clouds above him, misty, and unreadable...washed out.
"It's on your permit license." He pulled a shiny card out form within his pocket. "I rescued it, found on the ground next to you."
Gabriella sighed, then pushed herself up. "Move," she croaked, hoping Michael wouldn't detect her stubborn sob clawing its way up her throat, toward her teeth.
They walked side by side, the boy with the squared eyes, stark white nose, and the girl with hard, hard blue eyes, and a perplexingly short, flimsy height. "The nerdy midget", her brother used to say.
"So," he said. "Why didn't you want to get the hell outta dodge?"
"Why do you think? Did you think I wanted to get a suntan?"
"No, I just thought...I mean...I don't know. Why wouldn't you want to get back to your family. I mean, I get the crappy parental life. Everyone's got one. But...I bet you've got some people."
"Everything was easier with Liz. With my entire math team. She literally wrapped my arms whenever my Dad would slice me with his pocket knife. I barely survived during those times."
"That's really funny."
"Excuse me?"
"What?" Michael stopped, giggling uncontrollably. "You think you survived because of Liz?"
"I know I did," Gabriella growled, feeling her sob knock against her chattering teeth. "I know...I know."
"Well, that's not true. I mean, sure. She helped you out. But did she pull you out the window of your bedroom? Nope! You did. Did she call the cops on your parents? Nope-"
"Okay," Gabriella laughed, her pale face brightening. "I get it."
They walked some more. Michael whistling, as if communicating to the birds that soared above them. Gabriella tearing, persistently, over her Liz.
"You're a good listener," Gabriella finally said, hiding her tears with her hair. "I wouldn't mind having you around. Where do you live?"
"Fort Worth."
"Ha! I live two minutes away from there!"
"Crazy how that works, huh?"
At that moment, Gabriella envisioned herself encouraging Michael to join the math team, student leadership, or even the chess club. She visualized the two of them sharing a bag of peanuts on the bus. The miserable rows of bruised clouds above them, purple, abused from the strangled downpour of rain, parted, freeing rays of forgotten sunlight, allowing them to shine down on Gabriella's dimples. She thought, hard, about how her life would be from here on out, as she counted the number of acorns she crushed with the heels of her heavily stained sneakers.
"This is it." Michael froze in front of jumble of leaves. Gabriella, frowning, lifted them up as if she were pulling up a curtain at the theater.
A police station.
"We...we're saved." She breathed. "Come on!" She ran into the clearing, then skidded to a stop, just on the edge of the street. "Michael?"
"This is as far as I go, Gabriella."
"What?" Gabriella spun around and glared, angrily, at Michael. "What are you talking about? You'll die out here."
"No I won't. I can't. Not again."
Before Gabriella could ask for clarity, for some sort of explanation...
The boy who had saved her from the explosion of her friends...who had reminded her of the courage she had within her...who had given her, even if it was for two seconds, maybe even less...hope...
"Remember," he said, and Gabriella noticed his crusted, bright orange lips, and paper thin cheeks, dissolving, the shapes of the trees appearing through his weightless figure, like a fogged reflection blurring in a bathroom merre. "Don't waste your life. You were not provided with the courage you needed to withstand the torments of your childhood. It was in you, and it still is."
His words. Gabriella accepted them as if they were rare, lemony adulations given on a scorching summer day, and memorized them just as quickly, the sincerity dissolving into her tongue, her skin, her entirety. His wisdom. Hung in the air, sour, and somewhat sweet, like the maples that watered her eyes.
Michael. Torn, ripped up pieces of his barely recognized character...was absorbed by the sunlight, that had now cast a spread of heat across the forest, the sky smearing in a tangerine pink, the spring gratuitously smoothing her finger across the miserable, atmospheric canvas, constructing a portrait of promise. Of chance. Before Gabriella could process what had happened, what she was had just swallowed, and had been forced to digest...she looked up, wondering where all of the sweat that leaked her neck, upper back, and had dampened the collar of her Wild About Harry's T-shirt, had come from.
The sun. That was her lemony answer. The sun, which had once been caged in the depressed, dried up clouds....had been thoroughly, and completely freed.
Everyone, her math team, Liz...even Michael, who had been a hero for only an hour...was freed.
And Gabriella, as two police officers carried her into an ambulance truck, could feel it. As if, inexplicably, a dozen of her once tremulous fears....had flown away from her shoulders, like the petals of a daisy, sprouting from within ashened soil.