The shrill whistle in my ears grew louder and louder until it forced all of my focus onto itself. The frigid wind soared through my hair and clothes violently, the whip of my hair lashing my face mercilessly. I opened my eyes but was met only with a weary grey. I was falling; my stomach and I realized that at the same moment. I was being drawn closer and closer to the bleak earth, my descent a dizzying spin round and round. Yet, my view never changed. The sky that rejected me was the same gloom as the ground that anxiously anticipated our meeting. I don't know if I screamed, or if I choked on the noise. I suppose it didn't matter as all sounds were drowned out by the ruckus of the wind anyhow.
I crashed into the grey, hard. The landing knocked the air from my lungs and I couldn't breathe or even gasp. The cold overtook my entire form and filled my mouth and throat with salty death. The water flooded up my nose and stung my sinuses as I thrashed about helplessly. Which way was up, which way was down? Where was my air? The tide knocked me about in every direction until my back scraped against the rocky seabed. I was far beneath the surface and being pushed lower still by the weight of the current. My lungs burned and I fought to keep my jaw clenched shut. I was suffocating at the bottom of the ocean and quickly losing ground in the war against my lungs which didn't understand that they did not want what they were asking for.
I was going to die and I knew it. I had never been afraid of death before and often I had pondered what lay beyond the onyx night sky littered with jewels and tried to envision who would be waiting for me. But now, none of those thoughts occured. My brain was drenched in adrenaline and my very being screamed at me to do something, anything to pull myself above the waves. My arms flailed and my legs kicked but neither found purchase. Everything was ice and ash but did nothing to extinguish the fire in my chest.
I never felt the hands that brought me to the surface. My saviour dragged me to the shore with difficulty. The waves crashed heavily against our sides and the sea worked to suck us back into its depths with each receding interval. All I could do was hold on tight to the arm that supported me and cough up the foamy water that drained from my mouth and nose. He let go of me and we both collapsed as we neared the muddy shore. Everything had grown numb and the sea water in my ears dulled the sound of the world around me. It felt as though I were still under water.
My savior was speaking to me but I couldn't hear him. Even as he drew closer and spoke next to my ear, his words were unintelligible. He was an old man, a frail one. He wore long tan trousers and a navy jacket, both of which were thoroughly soaked through. His tanned face held narrow and black eyes which peered out brightly from the fields of wrinkles that tried to consume them. He looked like the kind of old man that sat one grandkid on each of his knees and told them of the many adventures he had experienced since their age. I like to imagine he had worn one of those floppy fisherman's hats that day but that it had been stolen by the envious waves of the ocean while saving me. He was clearly asian and soon, I realized, he wasn't speaking English.
"... What?" Was all I could manage to utter as I willed my spasming lungs to calm.
He continued to speak to me with words that I'd never heard and motioned ahead of us with a bony finger as he pulled something silver from his trouser pockets. At first, I didn't recognize the archaic piece of technology, but a flip phone is still easily recognizable after years of playing with my parents' old ones as a kid. It was waterlogged and dripping. Following his finger, I could see a small, dully colored sedan set off into the woods a little ways. It would have been hidden by the dark trees had they any leaves. Thunder rang out overhead and shook the world around us. He was already heading towards the car, but walked in such a way as to keep me in his sights. He sounded concerned and was probably trying to take me to a hospital or to get some other kind of help.
As he went to put a hand on my shoulder, he stopped suddenly. His eyes widened and he withdrew his hand as though I were flaming. He backed away quickly and shaking. Confused and frightened by his reaction, I looked behind me but only saw the grey abyss and surrounding fog. As I turned back to him, he was already backtracking towards the car. Was he going to leave me there?
"No, wait!" I reached for him. "Please help."
He darted back faster than I thought a man of his age would be able to but I managed to grab onto his shin. I was only aiming for his pant leg but he screamed loud and I let go of him instantly. As he pulled back from my hand, I saw small splotches of red growing on the fabric around his left shin. He fell backwards into the mud and I was horrified. He was screaming something at me that I couldn't understand and nothing I would say could calm him down. I held up my hands in a non-threatening way, trying to show him that I meant no harm, but he continued to drag himself backwards and away from me until he hit the raised base of a tree. His screams chilled me to my core but as I looked around the small beach, I couldn't for the life of me determine what had scared him so badly.
And then he stopped. Looking back at him, I saw that he was just staring at me with those shiny black eyes. At first, I was relieved he had stopped screaming. But as I stood there, cold and soaked in the wind, I waited for him to say something else. I waited for him to move, my eyes locked with his and I was still. My heart sank after a few moments when he didn't blink. His mouth was ever so slightly agape and I prayed he would say something. Everything was too loud now; the howling wind, the thunderous waves, the light drizzle that fell and hit my face like knives. I swallowed but couldn't move any other part of me.
The bleed of red around his ankle had overcome the entire cuff of his pant leg and soaked into his white sock. Had I done that to him? My first thoughts considered that I had torn open a bandage; maybe I had grabbed him harder than I thought. I recalled that my grandmother used to bruise so easily from the slightest bump or scrape. She always called it "bleeding under the skin." The bright purple stains never failed to impress me with their diameters. This man must have been around the same age as her when she had died. Still, what could I have done to cause him to bleed so much, be it under or over the skin? My thoughts quieted and the dread began to set in.
I hadn't… Could I have…?
I couldn't complete those sentences.
My left leg made the first shaky step towards him. Time seemed to slow as I approached and all felt so surreal. My breath was shaky and crystalized into a white mist around me. My lungs were sore and I hadn't completely regained composure of my coughing yet. I felt light headed staring down at him. The first step for first aid is to ask the victim if they need help, I'd learned that somewhere. If they needed help they would be unresponsive. But the words asking if he was alright wouldn't leave my mouth; my tongue was paralyzed because I knew the answer already. I reached for him slowly and with uncertainty. My thumb and forefinger wrapped ever so lightly around his throat and under his chin as I felt for a pulse. He felt so warm but I could feel no beat, no throbbing in his body. I let out the breath I was holding and quickly drew in another as I let my hand fall. What I hadn't been expecting was the cascade of vermillion from where my hand had just been. The blood flowed down his trachea and mixed with the seawater around his brittle clavicle. It contrasted so much in the bitter, grey fog, bright and steaming. I could smell it.
Looking down at my hands, the length between my thumb and fingers shown red with the blood seeping into the natural cracks of my skin. I carefully turned them to inspect my fingertips but what I saw froze my blood and I could no longer look. My breath quickened but it felt as though none of the oxygen was reaching my lungs. Staring straight ahead, I gazed into the woods. The sedan sat just off a small, one lane road. My arms trembled as I brought them, clench-fisted, across my chest. I could feel the painful pricks of my fingers against my palms, and a heat radiating within my fists. The wind picked up and cried as it froze my skin and bones. Yet, I felt nothing but the tightening in my throat as I carefully trotted off down the road.