|If you’re going into the forest tonight
Author: speakeasy-love PM
A few days ago the very idea of carrying my dead wife around in a forest for three days would have struck me as strange, however at this point it seems perfectly normal.Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Spiritual - Words: 849 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 02-10-08 - id: 2474124
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A few days ago the very idea of carrying my dead wife around in a forest for three days would have struck me as strange, however at this point it seems perfectly normal.
Consider the following: The sky does nothing but lie to you
When I came to I was upside-down, and half blind. I found her face first upon opening my eyes, looking right at me. Now perhaps the reason for this was because her neck was broken in my direction, I really can't be sure.
I did call to her.
"Honey?" I whisper. I had not intended to whisper, but my voice was hoarse, as if I had been screaming.
She does not respond.
I panic, choking on the air in my throat. Or was that blood?
"Honey, are you all right? Talk to me." I force my withered throat to shout.
I try to reach for her but find myself unable to move for a moment. Something is holding me down…
A sharp reflection of light catches my eye and I look down, or rather, up at myself. Now I see it, the large piece of glass sticking out of my gut. I also see the blood running up my shirt, however, I do not feel the pain.
I think to myself, perhaps I am already dead.
I barely finish the thought when the sensation hits me, causing me to gag and lunge forward a bit. The pain was absolutely unbearable; it stole the air from my lungs and suffocated me. For the first time in my life I found myself begging for death, but death does not come, my blood never runs dry.
Even through one eye, I knew what I was about to do was foolish.
Desperate times, as they say.
I wrap my fingers around the glass, cutting them up; they just barely fit around it. The first thing I try is counting. I try for three, and can't, I try five, ten and fifteen, but still, I cannot pull. After I reach thirty I find that I am far too much of a coward to pull at any number.
'On go.' I grip tighter; tense my body, 'Go.'
Baseless pain rakes my body. It's white and hot, and if looked back on properly, absolutely beautiful. The glass slips from my hand as I hack against the blood crawling into my mouth.
Desperate, I click the seatbelt and send myself plummeting into the puddle of blood on the roof of the car, I do my best to ignore the pain and role myself over, trying to catch my breath which I am quite sure is escaping though the hole in my stomach.
I look up at Mary, she is hanging motionless from the seatbelt, and I reach nervously for her neck. I have to wait a few seconds before I am sure that I felt a pulse. She wasn't very alive, only a little, but enough.
I unhooked her seatbelt and she falls on top of me with a soft thump that causes the hole in my stomach to send tremors of agony all over my body and into my mouth once again making me gag.
I slowly drag us both out of the broken passenger side window and onto the street.
The explosion is what got me lost in the woods in the first place. Not an actual explosion, but rather the fear of one. It's the way it happens in all the movies, the car flips and explodes due to a gas leak or some such nonsense.
I stumbled drunkenly into the dense forest with Mary hanging like a rag doll off my shoulders. I could barely keep a grip on her around all the blood.
I don't get far, but I get far enough when I slowly come to realize that every step I had taken was a step quickly forgotten by my broken brain. With the concussion I could hardly remember who I was, much less where I was going.
The fact was that I hadn't known, I had never heard, no one had ever pulled me aside and told me, "Now Jimmy you listen to me real good, you hear. If you ever flip your car in an inhibited area on an unmarked road, don't leave the car. You stay right there or your gonna get yourself lost, you hear me boy? You stay."
So perhaps getting my wife and I lost was entirely my doing, but it was not entirely my fault. For how could I of known that a blow to the head would effect my ability to remember which way was up, and which way was down?
When I finally fall to the floor, too exhausted to move anymore I come to realize that Mary had already died.
My Mary was no more as blackness stole the sight from my last good eye.