A one-shot that has been inspired by recent events. Hopefully I'll be uploading stories sooner in the near future.
Thanks to HotChilliGriffin for the beta.
It's not like she hasn't been here before. Hasn't felt this before.
It's almost like… floating, but she can't remember how she got there.
She's been unconscious enough times now to realise that she has probably done it again. Lucky number eight. She hopes to God there won't be a number nine.
Mist. That's what she sees. White powder all around and suddenly she realises. Fire.
She can smell something; but it isn't quite smoke. It's metallic, hot and powdery all at once. She has to get out; but how? She can't see a thing. It's all white.
She screams. She can't help it; it's an automatic reaction. The scream is not hers, though; or at least, it doesn't feel like it. It's the blood-chilling and frighteningly cold scream you hear in horror movies when someone realises they are about to die.
For a moment, she is standing outside her body, watching, waiting. She can't die like this; burning alive. It's not the way she wanted to go.
The white fog is clearing, and she is starting to see. It's the first time she realises it isn't smoke. No fire.
Glass.
Shards of it are everywhere. On her lap, arms, legs. She doesn't remember how they got there, or what's happened to her. She knows she has to get out of here, wherever here is.
No one answers her screams and, for the first time, it sinks in that she is alone.
Alone to die.
She screams again, voluntarily this time. This can't be happening to her. These things don't happen to people like her.
Something warm is running down her face, and it's the first time she dares to move. She knows what it is though; blood.
Blood.
The word strikes something in her. It hits a nerve point that makes her jump and it clicks somewhere in her mind that she needs to survive.
She grits her teeth and looks down, knowing what she is going to find.
Flesh. Blood. Bone. Everything she never wanted to see.
Her leg doesn't look right, but she can't really tell. The white powder is still hanging around like a veil, and her brain screams out that white is the Chinese colour of death.
But she knows she can't concentrate on this. Blinking rapidly, she begins to see something round, but it's still white. A white material.
Her head jerks back instinctively. A steering wheel.
It all comes back in a rush. The front of the other car coming toward her. Her scream. The noise. The smells.
This time she really tries to break free, but something is restricting her. Seatbelt. But she can't get it off, her fingers won't work.
She sits still for a minute and stares. She still can't see anything. The front windshield is far too cracked to be of any use, but she suddenly gets an idea.
Her movements are rough, jerky and careless, but she has to escape. She doesn't really understand how she does it, but her elbow manages to push out the window next to her. The new cuts on her arm throw her into action.
Training begins to kick in. The fog in her brain begins to clear.
Phone.
Frantically, she looks around. It's not where she left it. No, all she can see through the centre console of the car is road. The gearstick has vanished. The radio is gone. Nothing is where it's meant to be.
She begins to sob. This can't be happening.
Help isn't coming.
She leans back in the seat, and without warning her seatbelt flings off.
She feels like she can move now. But it is beginning to hurt.
Her leg still doesn't feel right and now that the mist has cleared, she can see it's bent severely. She knows she isn't going anywhere. But she has to try.
With a small whisper of strength, she pushes herself up and tried to reach the other door.
Across the empty seat. Empty.
"Oh god," she whispers.
Josh is gone. He isn't there with her.
She has to find him.
But the other door won't open either. Something is stopping it from the outside.
She realises it wouldn't matter if it did, because with this leg, she isn't going anywhere.
His face looms in front of her, and she cries out. He doesn't answer though. Can't answer. He isn't really there.
But she doesn't know that.
"Hello?"
A voice is calling her, but she can't answer. Her mouth is so dry.
"Hello?" It tries again, louder this time.
She manages a croak, so soft that she could barely hear it. No one else will.
But they do.
She rolls her head to the right. Someone is coming. She can see a face.
"Help me, please," she whispers. Her voice doesn't sound like hers. It chills her bones. "Josh."
"There's no one with you," the man tries. But she knows he's wrong.
"I don't understand….what… how…" she trails off. Too many questions. Not enough brain power.
"You've had a car accident. Help is on the way. Can you tell me where is hurts?" the man tries, but she can't answer.
Where does it hurt?
Nowhere.
But it should hurt, shouldn't it?
Her leg looks painful. She can see her knee caps amongst the bits of flesh, bone and blood. She can't move her arm. Her fingers won't work. She should be in pain.
But she isn't.
"I don't understand…" she says again, her voice fading with each word.
She shuts her eyes.
She knows this is bad.
Sirens sound in the distance. Help is close. But she doesn't feel like she needs it.
She is floating again; she realises that she could have died ten minutes ago.
And she wouldn't have felt a thing.