"Being a good writer is 3% talent, 97% not being distracted by the internet." Cyrus Farivar

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Broken Limbs Part III

            In order to win this bet, I had to work fast to save her. The only person that could help me was Melvin, our resident sandman. When I found him, he was lounging about, reading quietly as his work day had ended. We spoke briefly as I retold the event as quickly as possible in order to not waste time. Hearing the story, he stared at me in disbelief. Never had a figment strived to save the life of a mortal. Such a practice or act was unheard of among our tiny population.
            We agreed on a plan, which would require her to wait until nightfall of the following day before any change might occur. Rather than go about my duties, I meandered down the slope to where her car was perched. From there I leaned against a tree and observed her. Being pinned, she could do very little in terms of nourishment. It was a struggle for her to just manage to get the dew off the rain jacket she had spread out to collect the droplets of condensation. Every part of my being wanted to help her, but it was against our policy to help her physically. My only interference was through dreams and acting as a substitute conscience.
            For two days all I did was stand by her car, waiting and hoping Melvin’s dreams had an effect on someone. Little by little I knew she was starting to tire and lose hope. Every couple of hours he would stop by to check on me, mentioning that he had found someone that he thought would listen to their dreams and follow through. After nearly a week I started to have my own doubts. She wouldn’t last much longer on just water and maybe a bit of leaves from those that had fallen from the trees above.
            Leaning my head against the trunk, I watched as she propped her head up against the door jam. Her last shred of will was starting to drain, I could just feel it. Gordon would be here anytime now and my guilt would haunt me forever. Despite not causing this crash, I felt responsible as I could have stopped it. Looking up towards the crest of the hill, I blinked seeing lights suddenly swinging around and descending in our direction.
            “Someone finally responded,” Melvin said, appearing at my side.
            “I almost did too,” Gordon said, his arms crossed with the scythe firmly secured to his back. He had a very cross look on his face as we watched several people make their way down to where we stood. It seemed they had managed to bring some equipment down and began cutting her free. Just as she was loaded on a stretcher and secured to be carried up, her eyes drifted in our direction. Tipping my hat to her I observed as they started to ascend through the broken limbs.  

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