Shattered Glass
By katie
- 435 reads
All she could see were shards of glass. Even when she closed her
eyes the fragments still danced in front of her. She was dazed -
nothing around her made any sense. Strange men stared at her, past the
glass, as if she was an exhibit in a museum. They reached out towards
her, grasping hands outstretched. She shrunk back, unwilling to let
them take her.
From behind her she heard a muffled cry. She tried to turn but her neck
felt like bolts had been put through it, clamping her to her seat. It
was unnecessary, however, to turn, for deep in the unconscious recesses
of her mind something told her that the cry belonged to a child - to
her child.
Panic surged within her as she tried to break free of the invisible
bonds that pinned her to the seat, but all resistance was futile. She
could not move. She knew now that she was trapped, not merely by the
metal that encased her, but also by her body's immobility.
Any thoughts she might have had for herself, however, had vanished
when she heard the child's cry. The only thoughts that remained to her
concerned the child. Was it hurt? Was it trapped like her? How could
she help it when she couldn't even move?
As these unanswerable questions swarmed through her head, her thoughts
became more lucid. Realisation dawned on her, dealing a stunning blow.
Images flashed in front of her eyes - images that made her shake
violently and sent a throbbing pain through the pit of her
stomach.
She sat and shook, seeing past images quickly yet present ones only
hazily. Occasionally faces swam into view, speaking to her, questioning
her, but she did not have the strength - or the inclination - to reply.
Blankets were placed over her. Although all sounds came to her as if
she was underwater, she picked out certain words and phrases that sent
a chill down her spine: "fatal", "shock", "child&;#8230;critical".
No one seemed to realise that she could hear and comprehend their
words, nor did they understand the horrific impact that these words
were having on her.
Tears began slowly, steadily trickling down her face. Unable to wipe
them away, she was forced to let them drip from her chin onto her lap
below. The extra liquid would not have much effect, she knew, for she
could feel the already sticky, warm, damp clothing that clung to her
skin. She knew that it must be blood, but her mind could not yet summon
the sensations that she knew should come with this realisation. She
remained numb.
Fragments of glass once more swam in front of her until all was
black.
The droning of machinery woke her. It was close, very close. It seemed
to be drilling through her brain. She was lifted and rolled and then
laid flat.
People were standing over her, talking to her, but all that mattered
now was the fate of her child. She strained to see out of the corner of
her eye as a limp, lifeless body was removed from the wreckage.
She held her breath, hoping, praying that the child would live.
As the sheet was pulled over the child's face her world fell apart. She
screamed a horrible, haunting scream. The shivering was now replaced by
pulsating sobs as she wept endlessly.
The child had died. She had killed it.
For the final time fragments of glass swam in front of her eyes. And
then she was still
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