The Grasp of Death

The Defeated

"There isn't a point anymore." I whispered to myself, not wanting to imagine doing anything else.

"Madison is coming." Said a small voice in the back of my head, there is a point; for him. 


I fought against that little voice, I don't even know why I fought it, but I did.

I stepped up on the ledge, I looked down, below, there was the river; the river I played in as a child, the river I learned how to swim in, the river my parents had died in, so, it seemed only right; that this would be where I would die, as well.

But before I jump, I should probably start at the beginning, the very beginning; it was about four years ago, on an unusually warm day in the fall; it seemed pretty normal, my parents drove along the freeway, all of us; oblivious to what was about to happen, I looked out the open window at the trees when there was a loud, bang, and the car lurched sideways, hit the guard-rail, flew over it, then the car hit a huge tree, I was thrown from the car, from the window, I rolled over onto my side as I watched the small car fly down the hill and into the river.


I had tried to get to them, and try to pull them out, I swam down as the car sank, I could see my parents struggling, my dad caught sight of me, and I could tell, he was telling me go; not to help them; I didn't listen, I swam down and tried to pull open the door, it wouldn't budge, the pressure of the water kept it shut, both of my parents were banging on the driver's side window, pleading with me to go back and out of the water; this time I finally did listen.


Once I got out of the water, I ran over, climbed over the guard-rail, and saw what had hit us, it was a huge chrome truck, which was completely totaled and sideways, that easily tripled the size of our mini cooper, there were three people scattered around the truck, none of them moved, beside one of them was a cell phone, I picked it up and dialed 911.


"Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"


"There's been an accident on the freeway, on the west side of the river; my parents are drowning, I need help, please."


"Alright, I'm sending help right away, sweetie, what's your name?"


"Arlene. Arlene Mathewson."


"Okay, Arlene, what are your parents' names?"


"Linda and Brian Mathewson, what does it matter?"

"Okay, darling, how old are you?" The operator asked as I could start to hear sirens.


"Twelve." I answered blankly.


When they brought the car up out of the water, I knew they were already dead, but there was that one shred of hope, that actually kept me from believing that they were dead until they pulled them out of car, and I saw their water-wrinkled, pale, blue skin, their eyes that would never blink, never cry, never see; ever again, their hands that would never touch, never feel, never hold; ever again, and so, you'd think that I'd be terrified of water, of how it killed my mother, my father, but no, I love water, I'm not terrified of it, it doesn't have any power, it didn't murder them, they just died in it, I'm terrified of cars and the strength, the power, that they hold.


It didn't matter that they were dead, I mean it mattered to me, but it didn't matter to anyone else, everyone else just went along with their business, going to work, going to school, going to doctor's appointments, dentist appointments, but me; I was going to a new house, a new home, a new parent, or that's what I had first thought, when I went to go live with my uncle; Donald, the last living family member I had left.