The following prose piece was written by “Roamer” during Saturday’s Grit Uplifted session at the Central Branch of the London Public Library, in first-person point of view, using inspiration from option a) of the writing exercise described in yesterday’s post:
I awaken as if from a dream, feeling weightless and free. Staring down upon the scene unfolding before my very eyes.
I’m on the side of a highway at twilight, the velvety and inky night sky above me, pockmarked with blazing diamonds of starlight. Below me is a scene of carnage.
A violent slash of asphalt and overturned grass, a twisted cacophony of metal and a kaleidoscope of clashing garish red lights flash like mini explosions before my startled and unblinking eyes. I feel an overwhelming desire to get away, and slowly drift above like some child’s balloon, but find myself tethered somehow by an invisible, yet nonetheless tangible cord, gripping me like the shackles of a prisoner.
Slowly I emerge from feelings of being submerged under water, and my tactile functions return, leaving me feeling beaten and torn inside, the pain almost unbearable, akin to that first breath taken on the day of my birth.
Realization then dawns upon me, as if my head was struck and the blinders of my ignorance were forcefully ripped from my eyes. And with that realization comes a stomach clenching and churning sense of dread.
The scene before me is that of my own accident mere moments ago, as my mind reels with the events that transpired.
I was driving my new car along this lonely stretch of road, returning home from my baby shower. At remembering I am–was–pregnant, my hands instinctively clasp my stomach. I swerved to evade a deer, lost control. Glass shattering, steel crunching and then the all encompassing void.
So that’s it, the chain that binds me to this world is my own will to live. I hover scant inches over my own body, viewing the damage of my corporeal form and the admittedly valiant effort of the ambulance attendant to revive me with a cold clinical detachment.
My limbs are all akimbo, my head laying off to my right side as if I were peacefully asleep. The only thing that brings the harsh reality to the situation, dispelling the myth, being the deep gash oozing blood from my head, as well as the ragged gash on my lower right abdomen.
The attendant valiantly performs CPR on me, my body restrained in case of spinal damage. As she performs CPR and checks for a pulse, I note that my new toy is wrapped around a tree, and I was propelled several feet through the windshield.
I leave the attendant to their vain attempts to revive me, as I choose to move to the great beyond.
My decision is made.