Struggle

The rain poured hard, I was soon soaked through and shivering. My car died on me, I walked for hours feeling depressed and desperate for someone to come and rescue me.

The cars passed by inattentive to my existence, who could blame them anyway? The fog was heavy and it was far into the night I was barely visible.

I pressed on at a quicker pace trying to avoid the rain from my eyes by blocking it with my hand, which was useful till strong wind materialized.

Around 15 minutes later, I spotted a tree, I ran towards it and laid my back against its trunk, slid down slowly, sat on the ground, and held my legs with my hands. Its branches were so vast it was relieving; I needed to rest before I made my way back home again in this godforsaken weather.

Car lights rolled by scarcely noticeable from all the rain, I ran my hand down the side of my body searching for my purse, I took out a pack of cigarettes and heaved a sigh of relief, my babies weren't wet.

I lit the cigarette, watched it burn, watched its flames, I closed my eyes and felt it circulating in my lungs and through my veins. They say smoking kills, but to me, it made me feel alive. I opened my eyes like waking from a nightmare and watched the smoke come out of my mouth and float in the night’s cold air. After that, I heard tires screeching, a bang, and all went blank.

The pain was unbearable, every time I tried to open my eyes torment followed. My body felt heavy. I moaned with agony, I was suffering of intense physical and mental pain, a very violent struggle. I breathed heavily, my tongue was swollen like I’d stuck a peach in my mouth and couldn't get it out.

Was I in hell? Is this how my empty, unproductive driven life ends? I thought of my parents, do they have any idea where I am? What happened to me?

What did happen to me?

I recalled screeching tires, was I the victim of a careless driver? Was I kidnapped? I cried. I cried not because I wanted to live, not because I realized what I had and wanted to change it for the better. I didn't see my paralyzation as a second chance. I cried because I simply wanted the struggle that precedes death to end.

I winced when I felt a sharp object come into contact with my palm, I heard barely audible voices, and I heard a man cry. My heart pounded fast at the thought that he was my father. I felt him touch my face gently with the back of his fingers; I felt his shadow as he bend over and pressed his lips onto my forehead, I heard his voice, one I did not recognize, it was not my fathers, it was calling out my name and begging me to wake up.

Author's Note

My therapist suggested I start writing down my feelings and turn them to some kind of story. This is my second story, please check out the first, thank you for the reviews and for taking the time to read them.

Reviews

[CC Faye]

This is a very sad story. I noticed that you are more fitted to write a poem than a short story.
There are grammar errors, since this is an unedited version of the story. But if you're just writing to let your feelings out, I won't comment on the wrong grammars.
There are still many questions in this piece. I still wonder if the man got hit by a car, or died in the end. I will never know.
Keep writing. If it's to make you better, go.
Great story! Love it.