Some writing

Hey guys:

So I wrote this during Fall Semester of last year and wanted to see what everyone thought of it – this is

“An Anatomy of a Crash”

Car: ‘kär, dial also ‘kor, ‘kyär noun – a vehicle moving on wheels

Crash: krash verb – to collide, esp. violently and noisily

BEEEEEP!

BAAAAAM!

SCREEECH!

THUUUD!

DING DING DING DING DING DING.

…And silence.
My mom has gone out with friends and left me money for dinner. By 6:30, I am consumed with hunger and get a bite to eat at Burger King.  I enter the garage, press the garage door opener, unlock my car, hop in, buckle up, put my key in the ignition, turn the car on, check my mirrors, and back out of the garage; Nothing out of the ordinary.
  I cannot move.  My body is numb.  Shock is taking over.  I cannot breathe.  I try to turn my head, but I can’t.  I am alive but dead at the same time.  Am I going to be able to get out of this car?  Am I going to be able to walk again?  Am I going to die?  My body is flooded with pain.  A thousand arrows have hit my body; yet, when I look down without moving my head I see nothing out of the ordinary.  I have completely succumbed to the pain.
I pull up to the end of the driveway – look left, look right, look left again: no cars in sight. I take my usual left turn out of the driveway and head down Silver Charm Place. I come to the four-way stop – look left, look right, look left again; no cars in sight.
The taste of blood and glass in my mouth makes me gag.  I want to throw up, but I can’t breathe.  Vomit sits on my stomach, waiting.  If I just heave, maybe the nausea will go away. I try to throw up but cannot lift my fingers.  I can’t shake this.  The sickness rules out the pain completely.  I feel numb.
I pull through the four-way stop and approach the highway.  The serene meadows and picturesque homes are a regular sight when exiting my neighborhood.
Cars whizzing by; my engine; air conditioning; Kelly Clarkson playing on radio; foot on the gas; acceleration; obnoxious car honk that turns out to be for me; blood-curdling scream; the loudest bang I had ever heard; vibrations within me; my body moving with the car; 10 seconds of complete silence; the song comes back into the scene: “I can breathe for the first time”; bullshit – I can’t breathe yet; my car’s door alarm going off continually – my door is gone; silence again; the yelling of the couple in the car that hit me and a policeman; “CALL AN AMBULANCE”; gasping for air in order to yell “HELP ME” (can’t yell – ends up just being gasping); Choking; “IS HE OKAY”; “SIR, CAN YOU HEAR ME?”; I silently nod; “LET’S GET HIM OUT OF THE CAR”; I hear more and more people; “Can you move your toes”; my toes wiggle; I’m going to be alright; “you’re going to be alright”; I breathe; “CALL MY MOM!”; the sound of another vehicle approaching; sirens – it’s an ambulance; I shudder as if the ambulance is going to run me over – my perception is still off; “put him on a hard board”; “TAKE HIM AWAY, MITCH”; the ambulance’s engine is turned on; I start to breathe sighs of relief; “where’s my mom?”; “we tried calling her but we couldn’t get through”; I start to breathe a bit more heavily; the ambulance door alarm turns on – we’re at the hospital.
Once I reach the intersection, I have to make some risky choices, seeing that there is very little space in between cars going at least 45 miles per hour.  My stomach grumbles – I just want my Burger King.  Here’s a space to go.  No, not long enough.  Maybe now.  No, that’s suicide.  My brain is conflicted.  I’m never going to get to my destination waiting here.  Go!      Darkness ensues.
The sky moves at fast speeds as I am being carried into the hospital.  The ominous building, normally a frightening place, now equals hope.  The doors to the E.R. fly open as I am pushed through the hospital at speeds of 20 miles per hour.  I still question my survival.  I look at the people surrounding my hospital-mobile; the paramedic passes me on to a doctor.  I listen to the two men whilst they secretly converse. 
“It was pretty bad, Graham.  It was a life threatening situation.  He’s…”
  I listen more intently.
“Where do you think he’s hurt the most?”
“I’d check his lower-body and his spine.”
“Is he paralyzed?”
“No, but he’s beat up pretty bad.  You know, if he didn‘t wear his seatbelt he‘d be dead for sure.  Things just worked out for him.”
I’m not paralyzed.  I’m alive.  My life will go on.  I rise in celebration and the pain takes over again.  I scream in agony.
I open my eyes to see that rather I am still in the same car that I was in 10 seconds earlier.  I’m not dead.  I haven’t gone to the light.  The sights around me go in and out.  My perception is blurred.  I attempt to look out my driver’s side window, but cannot move my body.  I put all my energy into waving – letting whomever is watching know that I’m still here.  I see the couple in the car that hit me run to my car in a panic like I’d never witnessed before.  The woman, most likely a pleasant-looking 60 year-old, is now sobbing and is clearly shaken up.  As they make their way to my car, our faces meet.  We are all instantly relieved – I am alive (in their case) and people are taking care of me (in my case); the guardian angels that have been sent were in the car that hit me.
“You’re going to be okay, baby.  I‘m here to take care of you.”
The man opens his mouth and speaks to me; I comprehend him.
“Are you okay, son?”
I give him the thumbs up to demonstrate that I’m okay.  He speaks again.
“That was some nasty crash you had there.”
I move my head around – I realize that I am sitting in a totaled car.  The glass of the windows is now in scattered pieces on the cold February grass.  The center console of  the car is broken off.  This is not logical.  I then realize I broke the console off with my hip.  This sight is disturbing.  The car that hit me actually pushed my body.  I look at the car itself and realize that the car is angled in.  My car has lost its shape.
I look back to the outside of the car and realize that a paramedic has entered the scene.  The man in the car that hit me and this newly appeared paramedic attempt to pull me out – it is a success.  As they carefully lie me down on the hard, chilly ground, they tell me not to move.  From this point on, I have to let the scene unfold above me.  This is frustrating, to say the least.  I deserve to see what happened.
Suddenly, more people have appeared on the scene – three or four more, in fact.  This group of about eight now block my view of the sky and my surroundings.  Their mouths move and sound exists, but I cannot understand a word.  Eventually, an ambulance arrives.  More confusion ensues until I am finally loaded onto the vehicle.
As I scream, the doctor and paramedic turn their attention back to me. 
“Where does it hurt, sir?”
My entire body aches.
“I need you to stay still, sir.”
  I’m not planning on going anywhere.
“We’ll get you something to kill the pain a little bit.”
The paramedic waves to me and I wave back.  Another one of my guardian angels disappears.  As I wait in my hospital bed, I wonder how I am here.  Logically, I should not have survived that car crash; But yet, I live today.  Tears slowly roll down my cheek.  Another feeling becomes more apparent than pain – happiness.