August 9, 1995

August 9, 1995

 

I

a haunting road stretched ahead, lit only by the dim headlights of the truck. she wished that there were more people on the road, something to keep her mind busy. the radio played hymns quietly in the background as a deer flashed across the road -unnoticed; as rain trickled on the unmoving wipers; a baby on board sticker on the bed began to peel away; clouds covered the moon. a shadow passed over her eyes.

 

II

she awoke to metal crunching around her skull, glass shattering on asphalt. chilling midnight air filled the cabin of the truck without the windshield to block her. red and blue lights raced towards her vision, blurred by a glowing light. battery acid burned pungent in the wind. someone yelled at her through a pillow. in the distance a luminescent figure sparkled over pieces of glass against the black pavement. a baby giggled in the darkness.

 

III

small bandages covered tinier cuts on her arms and face. everyone buzzed about the miracle that happened that night. about the child ejected from a vehicle, who lived, unharmed. about the child who ran up and down the bright lights of hospital hallways, telling her own little version of the events of the night. that sound was music to her ears.

an Angel saved me and mommy.

we were flying, and He sat me down.

mommy had one, too,

He was flying.

◄ Paper Dance

Lay Still ►

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