Crash

Crash

A muffled cry was what slowly roused her. She sluggishly opened her eyes, trying to locate the source of that noise. When she had pin pointed it, she realised it was directly underneath her. Moving proved difficult, excessively painful in fact. Then she realised there was a metal rod protruding from her left leg.

There was this muffled cry again. This time she could make it out clearer it sounded like the Wimper of a child. It was more of a reflex, you might even call it muscle memory, what she did next. With one hand she tried to steady herself as best she could, the other gripped as hard as she could around that metal rod and with one swift pull she tried to pull it out. The next noise that reverberated the area was her screaming as the piece of metal left her leg. With the last bit of strength she had left she slowly rolled to the side and from underneath her a little boy emerged.

The next time she opened her eyes her leg still hurt, but it was more of a dull ache, than the searing pain she felt, before everything went black. She tried to sit up and saw a belt pulled tight around her leg, the wound where she pulled this spike out earlier had almost closed. Her ears were still ringing, but she could make out that someone was talking to her. She could fish out enough of what was said to put together this: “That has to be the coolest thing I’ve ever seen! I’m not entirely sure how but you saved my life. Thank you so much!” Trying to reply she found it quite painful to form the words. She went to touch her head, the way you do when you have a bad headache. As she pulled it back she looked at it. There was a mixture of dirt and blood on her hand.

“What happened?” She then said to the boy?

“We just survived a Crash! I think everyone else is dead. I can’t exactly remember what happened. All I know is that at one point I ended up on the floor and you just threw yourself on top of me and kept telling me everything was going to be alright.”

He then stopped talking, looked at her leg, pointed at it and almost shouted: “How is your leg doing this?”

All that was left of the gaping wound that was there earlier was a scar the size of a dollar coin. As much as she tried to remember she could not.

“I have no idea?” She said trying her best to not let him see that she was terrified. She kept trying to remember anything that would give her an indication who she was, what she was doing or where she was going? It then suddenly dawned on her that if she indeed had no idea about who or what she was it should have bothered her that the great big gaping wound on her leg had closed itself. But it didn’t, it felt absolutely normal to her.

“My name is John. Can I call you Jane?” Well that was as good as anything she thought.

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