|main menu | youngsters categories | authors | new stories | search | links | settings | author tools|
|THE CRADLE (standard:Flash, 626 words)|
|Author: Ramon||Added: May 28 2004||Views/Reads: 2198/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|An actual incident triggered this fictionalized Flash . . .|
THE CRADLE -- Ramon Collins (591 words) Cold rain slanted in streaks as it sliced through the arc of the streetlights. As Ron eased his car up the on-ramp onto Borealis Avenue the nighttime traffic was light. Only one car followed him up the long hill that led to the Borealis Bridge, and it approached fast. He glanced at the rearview mirror and muttered, “Probably a Californian . . . dumb bastards don't know how to drive in the rain.” He slowed and moved right to allow the overtaking car plenty of room to pass in the left lane. As it passed, he noticed the driver held a cell-phone to his ear. “Californian, all right.” The passing car made a slight swerve toward his lane and a dark object flew over the hood of his car, knocking off the right windshield wiper. Ron pumped his brakes, moved farther right to the emergency parking lane and stopped. Ron left the driver's door open and trotted back to a bundle on the side of the highway. A young woman lay on her back with her arms and legs askew. He knelt, cupped his hands on the sides of her head and steadied her neck. Blood trickled from her nose and ears. Warm fluid mixed with blood oozed over his left hand. “Damn!” he said The girl looked up at him with trapped-animal eyes as he bent over and shielded her from the driving rain. She tried to say something out of a lop-sided mouth, then her eyes went out, as if somebody clicked a switch. He held her head steady. The California driver trotted back, his phone still glued to his ear. “I - I wasn't speeding was I? I didn't see her . . . I got 9-1-1 on . . . where are we?” “Borealis ave . . . just south of the bridge.” The driver turned aside, talked into the phone, then looked back. “Can I help?” “Turn your car around and pull in behind us . . . aim your lights back down the highway. Get a flashlight and flag traffic.” Ron hadn't used his sergeant voice for years. “OK . . . but was I speeding?” “I don't know. Move!” Ron moved his right hand under the girl's head and placed his left forefinger on the side of her neck. No pulse. “That doesn't mean anything,” he said to the ashen face. He cradled her head in both hands, closed his eyes as salty rain ran down the sides of his nose. The rain lessened and held soggy exhaust fumes close the pavement. Tires squished as traffic slowed in both directions and drivers gawked. Sirens wailed in the distance. A small knot of people gathered in front of the Holiday Inn across the highway. Ron glanced up and saw tall man push through the group and run across the four-lane highway in stocking feet. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and he carried a black bag with his right hand. A stethoscope dangled from the other. “That's right . . . hold her head still,” he shouted. The doctor dropped to his knees, unzipped the dark jacket, tore open her blouse and placed the stethoscope just above the brassiere. He held it there for a long minute, then straightened up and placed the stethoscope around his neck, looked down and shook his head. “She's gone.” He stood, looked away and his slumped shoulders shuddered. Ron looked desperate. “No pulse doesn't mean she's gone, doc.” The doctor turned back with moist eyes, “I'm afraid it does . . . put her head down.” “I can't do that, sir.” “She's gone, son.” “I can't let her go --” “Please . . . she's gone.” ### Tweet
Authors appreciate feedback!
Please write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Ramon has 4 active stories on this site.
Profile for Ramon, incl. all stories