A Wonderful World Indeed

Short story, anecdotal type thingy

Metal twisting and bending and grinding against each other. Screeches of rubber against pavement, producing a smell that could make your nose bleed. Horns are blaring. They're screaming at each other. I am the pivot point from which this all happens. I realize I'm flipping and everything else is too. I look out of the window separating me from the calm outside. I see trees of green. Blurry, but I see them. And red roses too. I think back to how I see them bloom for me and you. I think back to the time we spent together. And I think to myself "what a wonderful world".

I feel hands grasping at me. Trying to grab hold of me. But they can't reach. I've flipped upside down, my final resting place from where I first started, and I’m too far from either side to be reached. There are shouts I don't recognize. What is that voice? It sounds desperate. Is that me? Everything feels hazy. My head is in a fog, but I can still hear there are more voices that have joined mine. “Quick! Grab him!” “Try cutting his seatbelt!” “Does anyone have a knife?!” My body starts jerking involuntarily and I cough up a crimson liquid. It tastes salty and bitter but there is a sweetness to it. I decide I like it as I look back out of the window, but it’s cracked with a pattern that looks like a spider wove a web in the glass. I see skies of blue. That takes me back to the picnics we would have. You’re so beautiful. The blue sky behind you is no comparison to the silver blue of your eyes. I see clouds of white. So light in the air, seemingly floating on nothing. They glide effortlessly through the air, miles high. I remember bright, blessed days of walking hand in hand with you. I remember dark, sacred nights when we would drive through the night with the moon guiding us through the streets. And I think to myself “what a wonderful world”.

There’s a new smell enveloping me. What is that? Burning? The voices outside become more panicked, more rushed. The hands grab at me with more enthusiasm. The arms seem very colorful, like all the colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky. The different shades, so unique in it’s own. Also on the faces of people passing by. These hands are so nice, so caring that they try to help me. And I think to myself, “what a wonderful world.”

A memory takes me back to a safe place. Going through town with you, I see friends shaking hands, saying “how do you do?” I turn to you just to say “I love you”. But reality brings me back. The hands, fewer than before, are still frantically trying to get a hold of me. My arms, my legs, hands, or shirt. None of them are successful. The new smell is stronger than before. The air and everything around me smells saturated with it. Gasoline? “We have to get him out of there now!” “Ma’am, we are doing the best we can. We won’t give up.” Good, you made it out. That makes me happy. Despite my situation, I'm glad to know you're not in here with me. As much as I want you to be; so I can hug you, kiss you, tell you “I love you”. As much as I want you to be, I don’t want you to be. But you're screaming to get to me. I can hear you through the increasing roar of the flames, through the shouts of the people. Through the sirens of ambulances, fire trucks, and police. I hear you as if you were the only sound. Everything else has become muddled and faded away. Through the silence I hear you, “I love you”. I whisper, though my throat feels rough and raspy, “I love you too”. A coldness in my body, emitting from the center, irradiates to my arms and legs from the inside. But my skin feels warm. I haven't moved since I landed here. I can't say anymore. There’s nothing left. Something sweeps over me. It feels so comfortable, so warm. I feel so welcomed. The fire spreads towards me, latches on to my legs and climbs up. And I think to myself “what a wonderful world”.