Wilbur closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see what came next.
He felt warm liquid gushing from his nose and burning the back of his throat. His chest felt restrained and he feared his jaw would snap in half if he opened his mouth. His breathing sounded like a creaking gate left swaying in the wind. Hot air, tasting like a musty pillow, filled his lungs.
He tried to move but something heavy held him down. His body didn’t hurt, not exactly, but he sensed pain was imminent. He couldn’t feel his legs.
Wilbur tried remembering where he was and what had happened, but it was as if someone had deleted the file called “short-term memory.” He knew he was a thirty-seven year-old accountant named Wilbur Whitehead, married, with two children. His wife’s name was Emily. Alita, was nine, and Sam, seven. He saw their innocent, trusting faces. Concentrating on them, he relaxed and opened his eyes. He could see nothing.
The burning he had felt in the back of his throat dissipated, as did the overall sense of imminent pain. His breathing quieted. In the blackness of the moment, he now saw Emily’s face–her thick bottom lip, like that of a pouting child, her hair hanging loosely to her shoulders. She called to him. “Will. Will.” Her voice seemed far away and close at the same time. He stared into her deep, dark eyes, refusing to blink, not wanting to miss a moment. He felt totally at peace. Like a half-sleeping child being carried off to bed in his father’s arms. He offered no resistance. His eyes closed. Emily’s image remained.
***
“Hey, buddy! Stay with me, man! We’ll get you out!”
Voices in the distance. “My God, the blood. Those poor children.”
He felt the weight on his body being torn away. Pain shot through his ribs to his chest. His arms felt crushed and useless.
Wilbur tried focusing on Emily, eager to return to the peace, but the pain and the commotion around him intruded. As his wife’s image disappeared, he tried reaching for her and for the children. He couldn’t move his arms.
Gasping for air, he panicked like a drowning man. “Easy there, buddy. You’re going to be all right.” He felt a hand on his shoulder. He winced in agony. His breathing slowed, but the pain worsened.
“You’re a lucky man,” he heard a voice speak. “That air bag saved your life.” Another voice. A woman. “We called for help. They’re on their way. Just stay calm.” He tried thinking of Emily and his children, but the pain was too much.
Wilbur closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see what came next.
—
©2009 Wayne Scheer
Wayne Scheer has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and a Best of the Web. His work has appeared in a variety of publications, including The Christian Science Monitor, Notre Dame Magazine, Eclectica, The Pedestal Magazine, Flashquake, Smokelong Quarterly, Pindeldyboz, and Flash Me Magazine. Revealing Moments, a collection of twenty-four flash stories, is available as a free download at http://www.pearnoir.com/thumbscrews.htm. Wayne lives in Atlanta with his wife and can be contacted at wvscheer@aol.com.
Tags: Wayne Scheer
October 3rd, 2009 at 9:39 am
la variante Excelente