Award Banquet + Bomb + Family
by A. Rhea King
Currently
San Francisco – city of trolleys, orange bridges, and hills. So many hills
Mathilda's first sensation was ringing in her ears that inflamed the headache behind her eyes, pushing pain against her temples. Both discouraged her from moving for an unknown amount of time. Unfortunately, the ringing didn't seem to be getting any better. There was a memory nagging, trying to get her to move, but she ignored it for as long as she could. The ringing slowly faded into a dull white noise, allowing the headache to regress.
Slowly she opened her eyes, and confusion set in. Nothing she saw made sense. She was staring at the bottom of something metal and barely lit. To her right were large pieces of concrete, some almost on top of her, and mangled bits of metal that might have been furniture before… Before what? What had happened?
Mathilda started to move but quickly stopped. Every joint and muscle in her body screamed for her to lay still. Across her ribs and right side, she felt the burning of a fresh injury or bruise. Something had dried across her face. She finally mustered the motivation to move despite the pain.
She rolled onto her side, trying to assess her location better. She spotted a small opening that she thought she could get through. She started to crawl-wriggle of the confined area toward the exit. She stopped when her clothes snagged on something. It was lighter where she'd stopped, and she could see she was wearing a dress. Why was she wearing a dress? It had caught on a piece of rebar sticking out from a concrete slab. Mathilda yanked the fabric, tearing it off the rebar. She stopped moving, looking at her arm. Not at the large gash down her forearm, still oozing a little blood, but the dress sleeve. Black silk with silver thread embroidery at the cuff and silver rhinestones.
Like a flood, Mathilda's memories returned. What she remembered made her lose some of her strength. She looked at the opening again.
Frantically she called out. "MacGyver?" Mathilda wriggle-crawled to the hole and climbed out. "MacGyver!" She pulled herself onto a pile of rubble.
She knew she was a room only because it had been one before the blast. Now it was filled with rubble from the walls and the floors above. LED lights hung from their electrical cords overhead and flickered. She looked back at the object that had sheltered her when the bomb exploded. The metal of the heavy desk was twisted and warped. The concrete top and front had cracked and were on the verge of crumbling.
"MACGYVER!" she screamed as she looked around her.
He had been here just seconds before the blast. They had been fighting. No. Not fighting. Mathilda almost broke into sobs when she remembered the moments before the bomb exploded.
She continued searching for her friend, and the shame for what she did seconds before the explosion made her cry. She continued calling and combing the space for MacGyver, worried the last thing she'd said to him would haunt her forever. She had to find him alive. She had to apologize.