Crash and Burn

The moment Charles took the bend at a speed far beyond what the limit permitted, he knew that things were bad, but going to get much, much worse. It was one thing to be driving a luxury coupe not registered in his, or anyone's name he knew, but to have the car collide with an immovable object such as the side of a 7-11 with a fifth of vodka resting in a bottle laying in the passenger seat and another mickey resting uncomfortably in his stomach, the repercussions were severe enough to contemplate fleeing the crime scene – if there weren't so many witnesses staring observantly at the scene and hence his every move thereafter... and if he could move.

“Oh fuck.”

The car slammed sideways into the brick wall, causing the half-empty bottle of booze to smash against the dashboard, shattering on impact, polluting the entire front seat with shards of glass and alcohol. The booze splashed the cuts scattered all over Charles arms and face, resulting in an intense burning sensation strong enough to leave him queasy in his dazed state. The numbness proliferated through his lower extremities; his arms flailing frantically almost to compensate for the quasi-vegetative state of the rest of his body. A fear of blindness washed over him until he realized his eyes were masked in a constant flow of dripping blood oozing from a horrific gash just above his left eyelid – the result of turning his head at the last second as if looking away from the wall would prevent the tragedy from happening. His hands brushed across twisted metal in places where there was no metal just seconds earlier. The coppery taste of blood in his mouth did not mesh well with the unfamiliar smell of burning vinyl.

The ringing in his ears was a sound unlike any he had ever heard. Somehow he was able to hear the muffled voices of concerned passerbys, opting to be sympathetic spectators in the scene as opposed to acting participants in the saving of a young man's life.

“Oh my God, is that man alright?”

“Somebody call 9-1-1! He needs help.”

“He looks like he's dead!”

“I can't even watch.”

“This is tragic.”

The numbness in his lower half increased to a unbearable tingling, as if a million ants invaded his legs. The pain also increased to torturous levels, making Charles wish all of his body was completely devoid of feeling not just his legs.

The ringing in his ears subsided to echos, the muffled voices distanced themselves to where they were barely more audible than whispers. The only sound that grew and increased in clarity was the sound of his own heartbeat, pounding at a lighting-fast pace at first, but gradually dwindling to a tempo that made Charles question whether or not it would beat again. The sound was deafening in his panic-stricken state, but also reassuring in that he knew he wasn't dead yet.

Ba boom

Ba boom

Ba boom

Ba boom

Was the sound growing quieter?

Was it stopping?

Is this how you're supposed to feel?

His breathing was shallow and came like rapid fire. He could feel his mouth and throat working to engulf as much oxygen into his lungs as possible, but the dizziness escalated.

He thought about everything in his life leading up to this moment. He thought about how he tried to be a good kid and how easily he succumbed to the vices of life, making all the excuses in the book with every piss-poor decision he made. He remembered smoking weed for the first time at twelve and moving on to petty crimes and harder substances before he was even out of High School. And now here he was at twenty-four, fucked up in some stranger's car.

That was the last thought he had before blacking out from the pain.

“Sir? Sir? Can you hear me? Everything is going to be ok... Damnit, get him on the gurney! We're losing him!”