Seattle Screams

The sky golden, golden like the hair which settles on my back, golden like the flowers prancing among fields of emerald, or golden like the smiles seen upon all of our faces in that car. Seattle’s stereotype of rain took a briefing that day, long enough to highlight the happy moments, before a bigger storm hit me.


“Honey?”


Quickly I escape my utopian dreams and tell my fingers to cease flying in the window like gliders, and come back to reality to find my mother looking back into my baby blue eyes. 


“Yea, sounds good to me.” I say as I feel my smile creep two times larger, attempting to hide my daydreaming from the world. This awkward moment of silence is happily interrupted by a buzz, and to my surprise, it was me with the notification. Without a second wasting I turned over my phone as though my whole life depended upon it, all to find a very special text from a very special person. My eyes lit up with anticipation and my hands, which were once gliders in the wind, now type in the speed of jets. Excitement overcame me and what the boy would say next. At that moment, sent with that message were chills down my spine. A piercing voice, a voice filled with pain and agony, a voice of a young boy hit me like a car. I turned to the source which caused the devilish chills and found I wasn’t the one hit. He was.


Car toppled over his leg, as he screamed for help. I watched the driver, a middle-aged beauty, perplexed as to when she should exit the parking lot. Her eyes not fixed upon what lay beneath, just her looking left and right, left and right, but never down. Her mind was somewhere else, and unlike me, she didn’t have a mother beside her to bring her back to reality. I must’ve not been the only one to think of this for my aunt and uncles, and vehicles of all shapes and sizes, began screaming with the man who lay under thousands of pounds of metal and rubber. I remained silent, I tried to scream but every time I’d open my mouth, air would dry out my words. Tears softly laid on my porcelain skin, I felt as though I was at a loss, at a battle which was not my own. My eyes were fixed on that leg, a leg made for running, a leg which had kicked countless soccer balls, and walked many more miles for decades, unsure if it would ever be saved.


They couldn’t take it no more, people began running toward the car, startling that lovely young woman. My mother and uncle were the generous helpers to run from our car, and the amazing paramedics when at the scene. The white SUV, soon released the leg from captivity, to uncover the trauma. I turned my head back around with dried tears sticking to my face, until the car door opened again. Mom sat down and put her fingers through my hair, and smiling that smile of gold once more. I looked back at the congestion once more to find that man surrounded by several others, supplying him with a helping hand, unaware that this was just a warning of many more occurrences and lessons I may learn later in life.






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