Disclaimer: As much as I would love to take all the credit for all the
characters of E'wood, I can't. They don't belong to me. They are the
brilliant spawns of the creators and we must all bow deeply to them for
allowing us to manipulate their brainchildren.
Author's Note: I'm experimenting with this new format of writing. It fluctuates between present time and flashback. I thought it would be an interesting attempt to write a story this way. Please, Please, Please let me know if this works and if you like it!! I want to take this moment to thank all of you (the fans - without you, I am nothing) profusely for reading and reviewing my work. I enjoy writing very much and it's extra special when I know there are people out there who dig my ideas. I'm touched by all your compliments and appreciate them immensely!! ~ Thanks!! ~
Title: Crash Landing
Chapter 1: Caught Between the Moon and New York City
'They'll come for me. I know they will.' Ephram thought to himself optimistically trying desperately to remain calm. He figured it was a clever idea to trick his brain into thinking everything was alright. Maybe this way, he won't fall into shock as easily. He closed his eyes briefly to block all negative thoughts from his mind. Meditation always helped in his stressing moments but this was a different kind of stress. This kind of stress was more severe than the typical everyday drama of teenaged sagas. Remaining calm was a key issue here. His life depended on it.
Inhaling and exhaling was a real challenge. It was hard to ignore the vicious pain pulsing in his skull. It was like a blacksmith hammering away on an anvil only instead of an anvil, it was his head. Funny he thought of it that way because it reminded him of the Verdi's Anvil Chorus from 'Il Trovatore', which depicted Spanish gypsies striking their anvils at dawn and singing praises of their strenuous yet rewarding life. The music embedded in his head and ran continuously in the discman of his mind. He found it morbidly amusing as he coordinated the striking sounds of the anvils to the pounding in his head. At least he wasn't passing out, though, he wished he had so the wrenching pain would go away. His attempt at drawing even a shallow breath put pressure on his rib cage.
His sensations were heightened and magnified about a hundred times. He'd never been bombarded with such intense simultaneous feelings. It was more than he could handle. Ephram swallowed in hopes of producing spit to moisten his sweltering mouth. His taste buds allowed him a thick salty flavor with a hint of sweetness. It was the taste of his blood. He wasn't exactly sure if the blood he tasted was coming from the laceration on the side of his head or from his split lip. Either way, it was something wet and it quenched his thirst slightly for the time being. He finally opened his eyes to the reminder of his tight situation.
It was impossible to move. He couldn't even wriggle his way out. A massive piece of twisted metal had him pinned against a cushioned chair from mid- chest down. His waist and lower body were completely immobile. The only part of him that was partially movable was his left arm. He was oblivious to the extent of his injuries but he knew he felt horrible and the pain was gradually spreading. Afraid to turn his head, he focused on the objects front of him. Carry-on bags and belongings were scattered among the soiled debris. Plastic chunks and broken glass littered the area in disarray. Mutilated seats were overturned and ripped from its original places. He strained his ears to listen for any type of movement or human sounds but there were none. There was only dead silence.
It was dark. Night had come in a mad hurry. If it weren't for the moon, he would be in complete darkness. He was thankful for being able to see the moon from where he lay. The illumination from the crescent moon peeked occasionally thru the dark looming overcast. It penetrated through thin purplish clouds with beams of soft rays reflecting off the cracked glass like a beacon pointing down at Ephram. He treated the moonlight as a guide for his rescuer. Kind of like how lost hikers get a fire going to create smoke signals or shooting a flare into the sky in hopes of getting the attention of passing rescue helicopters. The moonlight was Ephram's SOS for help. There was nothing else he could rely on.
The piece of metal weighed heavily on his chest making it difficult to draw air into his lungs. At one point, he even tried to push the metal off but he lacked the strength. The tension in his back prohibited him from any further noble tries. A scent of fuel and rust circled the air around him. Combustion and old metal was not the cause of this distinctive rusty smell. It was the smell of fresh blood. Probably his blood, since it was so strong and biting.
Blood trickled from his head wound down his right cheek. He felt the sticky wet liquid drip pass his eyes and onto his lips as he licked it. His head was reeling and spinning. His eyes couldn't stay focused anymore so he closed them. He let out a soft groan hoping someone would miraculously hear it and come save him. He tried to think positive but it was hard when it seemed hopeless.
'Don't give up. Dad wouldn't want me to give up.' Ephram coached himself. He wondered if his life was going to end in this slow torturous death being crushed under heavy debris while having the air gradually sucked out of his lungs. He thought about his family or what was left of his family. If he should die tonight, what would happen to them? Would his father pick up Delia and move again? He figured this time, they'd move to Europe. It's supposed to be nice in London this time of year. Or maybe move to somewhere closer like Canada. 'I shouldn't be thinking this way.' Ephram thought. 'But what if.'
There were too many doubts in Ephram's mind. It was easy to let his imagination take control. He fantasized about his father leading a band of rescue workers - policemen, firemen, rangers, medical personnel, and you name it - to come get him out of this mess. They would scour the entire area with flashlights and bloodhounds and communicated over radio headsets to advise each other of the land they covered. But ultimately, it would be his father who finds him trapped under the metal. His father would lift the piece of metal off his chest effortlessly and take him into his healing arms. Everything was alright. He would be safe. Ephram knew he was only lying to himself in this daydream.
He cursed himself for leaving New York. He cursed himself for returning to Everwood. If he hadn't come back, he would never have been in this predicament. But he had to go back. As much as he missed New York, Everwood was his home now and his father and sister were there. It wouldn't be right to break the promise to his father of returning after a lengthy vacation in New York. This vacation back did him good. The stress and frustrations disappeared. He lived with his grandparents during his entire stay and they were delighted to have him. He even got to appreciate all the good things he's missed, especially walking in Times Square at night. Neon and chrome signs tacked onto every square inch reaching the sky. It's said that one hasn't really seen Times Square until he's seen it at night. And it is so true.
The ambiance was intoxicating. And it must be something extraordinary if travelers came from all over the world to see this captivating display of advertisement and what it had to offer. On every block you had your variety of street musicians - everything from the tropical sounds of Jamaican steel drums to the mellow tones of Incas mountain music to the synchronized drumming of plastic buckets. There were portrait artists on every corner busily sketching away on their subjects. Of course, who could miss the Naked Singing Cowboy taking his place in front of Duffy Square. He gave the female tourists a reason for a Kodak moment. Decked out in nothing but a pair of white underwear, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat, the chiseled, blond long-haired Naked Singing Cowboy stands strumming his guitar gaining all the attention he wants all seasons of the year. Ephram always found it amazing how the guy could stand there half naked in 30 degrees weather and not get hypothermia.
Ephram enjoyed watching the reactions of the people experiencing Times Square for the first time with their eyes lighting up at the mere spectacle of marketing strategy. It was just a great feeling to be amongst that crowd. He smiled at the mental picture.
A sudden fierce stab of pain shot up his back and brought him back to reality. The jabbing pain in his chest throbbed as the metal continued to crush his ribs. He kept his eyes shut and thought of his favorite billboard in Times Square - the giant Coca-Cola bottle way on top of the Olive Garden Restaurant right across the street from the TKTS booth. He imagined the straw popping out from the top of the bottle and glowing brown lights made it appear like its contents were being sipped out.
'Please help me, God. Or let me die. I'm in so much pain. I don't want to suffer anymore.' Ephram prayed. All he could do now was wait.
The bright red, white and brown lights of the comforting Coca-Cola billboard swirled in the darkness of his closed eyes as he lost consciousness.
* end of chapter 1 *
Author's Note: I'm experimenting with this new format of writing. It fluctuates between present time and flashback. I thought it would be an interesting attempt to write a story this way. Please, Please, Please let me know if this works and if you like it!! I want to take this moment to thank all of you (the fans - without you, I am nothing) profusely for reading and reviewing my work. I enjoy writing very much and it's extra special when I know there are people out there who dig my ideas. I'm touched by all your compliments and appreciate them immensely!! ~ Thanks!! ~
Title: Crash Landing
Chapter 1: Caught Between the Moon and New York City
'They'll come for me. I know they will.' Ephram thought to himself optimistically trying desperately to remain calm. He figured it was a clever idea to trick his brain into thinking everything was alright. Maybe this way, he won't fall into shock as easily. He closed his eyes briefly to block all negative thoughts from his mind. Meditation always helped in his stressing moments but this was a different kind of stress. This kind of stress was more severe than the typical everyday drama of teenaged sagas. Remaining calm was a key issue here. His life depended on it.
Inhaling and exhaling was a real challenge. It was hard to ignore the vicious pain pulsing in his skull. It was like a blacksmith hammering away on an anvil only instead of an anvil, it was his head. Funny he thought of it that way because it reminded him of the Verdi's Anvil Chorus from 'Il Trovatore', which depicted Spanish gypsies striking their anvils at dawn and singing praises of their strenuous yet rewarding life. The music embedded in his head and ran continuously in the discman of his mind. He found it morbidly amusing as he coordinated the striking sounds of the anvils to the pounding in his head. At least he wasn't passing out, though, he wished he had so the wrenching pain would go away. His attempt at drawing even a shallow breath put pressure on his rib cage.
His sensations were heightened and magnified about a hundred times. He'd never been bombarded with such intense simultaneous feelings. It was more than he could handle. Ephram swallowed in hopes of producing spit to moisten his sweltering mouth. His taste buds allowed him a thick salty flavor with a hint of sweetness. It was the taste of his blood. He wasn't exactly sure if the blood he tasted was coming from the laceration on the side of his head or from his split lip. Either way, it was something wet and it quenched his thirst slightly for the time being. He finally opened his eyes to the reminder of his tight situation.
It was impossible to move. He couldn't even wriggle his way out. A massive piece of twisted metal had him pinned against a cushioned chair from mid- chest down. His waist and lower body were completely immobile. The only part of him that was partially movable was his left arm. He was oblivious to the extent of his injuries but he knew he felt horrible and the pain was gradually spreading. Afraid to turn his head, he focused on the objects front of him. Carry-on bags and belongings were scattered among the soiled debris. Plastic chunks and broken glass littered the area in disarray. Mutilated seats were overturned and ripped from its original places. He strained his ears to listen for any type of movement or human sounds but there were none. There was only dead silence.
It was dark. Night had come in a mad hurry. If it weren't for the moon, he would be in complete darkness. He was thankful for being able to see the moon from where he lay. The illumination from the crescent moon peeked occasionally thru the dark looming overcast. It penetrated through thin purplish clouds with beams of soft rays reflecting off the cracked glass like a beacon pointing down at Ephram. He treated the moonlight as a guide for his rescuer. Kind of like how lost hikers get a fire going to create smoke signals or shooting a flare into the sky in hopes of getting the attention of passing rescue helicopters. The moonlight was Ephram's SOS for help. There was nothing else he could rely on.
The piece of metal weighed heavily on his chest making it difficult to draw air into his lungs. At one point, he even tried to push the metal off but he lacked the strength. The tension in his back prohibited him from any further noble tries. A scent of fuel and rust circled the air around him. Combustion and old metal was not the cause of this distinctive rusty smell. It was the smell of fresh blood. Probably his blood, since it was so strong and biting.
Blood trickled from his head wound down his right cheek. He felt the sticky wet liquid drip pass his eyes and onto his lips as he licked it. His head was reeling and spinning. His eyes couldn't stay focused anymore so he closed them. He let out a soft groan hoping someone would miraculously hear it and come save him. He tried to think positive but it was hard when it seemed hopeless.
'Don't give up. Dad wouldn't want me to give up.' Ephram coached himself. He wondered if his life was going to end in this slow torturous death being crushed under heavy debris while having the air gradually sucked out of his lungs. He thought about his family or what was left of his family. If he should die tonight, what would happen to them? Would his father pick up Delia and move again? He figured this time, they'd move to Europe. It's supposed to be nice in London this time of year. Or maybe move to somewhere closer like Canada. 'I shouldn't be thinking this way.' Ephram thought. 'But what if.'
There were too many doubts in Ephram's mind. It was easy to let his imagination take control. He fantasized about his father leading a band of rescue workers - policemen, firemen, rangers, medical personnel, and you name it - to come get him out of this mess. They would scour the entire area with flashlights and bloodhounds and communicated over radio headsets to advise each other of the land they covered. But ultimately, it would be his father who finds him trapped under the metal. His father would lift the piece of metal off his chest effortlessly and take him into his healing arms. Everything was alright. He would be safe. Ephram knew he was only lying to himself in this daydream.
He cursed himself for leaving New York. He cursed himself for returning to Everwood. If he hadn't come back, he would never have been in this predicament. But he had to go back. As much as he missed New York, Everwood was his home now and his father and sister were there. It wouldn't be right to break the promise to his father of returning after a lengthy vacation in New York. This vacation back did him good. The stress and frustrations disappeared. He lived with his grandparents during his entire stay and they were delighted to have him. He even got to appreciate all the good things he's missed, especially walking in Times Square at night. Neon and chrome signs tacked onto every square inch reaching the sky. It's said that one hasn't really seen Times Square until he's seen it at night. And it is so true.
The ambiance was intoxicating. And it must be something extraordinary if travelers came from all over the world to see this captivating display of advertisement and what it had to offer. On every block you had your variety of street musicians - everything from the tropical sounds of Jamaican steel drums to the mellow tones of Incas mountain music to the synchronized drumming of plastic buckets. There were portrait artists on every corner busily sketching away on their subjects. Of course, who could miss the Naked Singing Cowboy taking his place in front of Duffy Square. He gave the female tourists a reason for a Kodak moment. Decked out in nothing but a pair of white underwear, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat, the chiseled, blond long-haired Naked Singing Cowboy stands strumming his guitar gaining all the attention he wants all seasons of the year. Ephram always found it amazing how the guy could stand there half naked in 30 degrees weather and not get hypothermia.
Ephram enjoyed watching the reactions of the people experiencing Times Square for the first time with their eyes lighting up at the mere spectacle of marketing strategy. It was just a great feeling to be amongst that crowd. He smiled at the mental picture.
A sudden fierce stab of pain shot up his back and brought him back to reality. The jabbing pain in his chest throbbed as the metal continued to crush his ribs. He kept his eyes shut and thought of his favorite billboard in Times Square - the giant Coca-Cola bottle way on top of the Olive Garden Restaurant right across the street from the TKTS booth. He imagined the straw popping out from the top of the bottle and glowing brown lights made it appear like its contents were being sipped out.
'Please help me, God. Or let me die. I'm in so much pain. I don't want to suffer anymore.' Ephram prayed. All he could do now was wait.
The bright red, white and brown lights of the comforting Coca-Cola billboard swirled in the darkness of his closed eyes as he lost consciousness.
* end of chapter 1 *
