FELICIA HEILGENDORFF

I want to scream, is all I can think, yet I cannot. Snow pushing in through the shattered windows of my car freezes my broken legs. Unable to move my lower body, I try to fumble around for the doors with my hands. My fingers plunge into the soft snow and I yank them back with a howl.

In the accident, my car was lurched to the side. There is no way I will ever get out of here. Panicked, I shovel through the snow with my hands. I cannot feel them anymore, but I know they are somewhere buried in the white fluff now.

There are no sirens, no sounds. It’s the middle of the night and all I hear is the howling of the snowstorm as it rages around me. I should never have left at this hour. Not in this kind of weather. Even staying at that house, with that violent husband would have been better than this.

My numb fingers scraping against the sharp shards of glass, I howl again with pain. My voice is barely audible above the howling wind.

Perhaps my husband will come find me. Hadn’t he been right behind me during the accident? He’s probably more than delighted now about what happened, I think bitterly, sucking at my finger to stop the bleeding.

© 2016

Sunday Photo Fiction 17th January 2016