01-18-2014, 12:59 PM
“The only difference between a suicide and a martyrdom really is the amount of press coverage.” - Chuck Palahniuk
Point of View: Jessie Diaz
I settle back in the seat; the cold leather grinding against my bare skin. Anna was right: it was really fucking cold out (and by association, in). The sound of police sirens lightly emanating from up ahead, rushing to where we left actually puts me at ease more than anything. This did happen. It was real. I don't know whether that makes it better or worse, but at least I know I'm alive and that whatever it was that just happened actually happened.
Then, everything goes black. No, that isn't quite right. Putting it like that makes it seem like it was a slap in the face or something. It was a gradual process, starting with the furthest reaches of my vision and slowly but surely fading closer and closer until - everything is pitch black.
Or, is it?
I'm not in the car anymore, either that or we aren't moving. The sirens are gone, so I'm leaning more towards the first option. Of course, I have to open my big, figurative mouth and point out that for once something happened and I know somehow, by some miracle that it's real and I'm sucked back into this glorified fantasy land.
I'm standing, not sitting. Definitely not in the car anymore; as if I needed any more proof of that.
"Jessie?" a voice from nowhere calls out to me. I look around the pitch black void, trying to see where it came from, however to no avail. "Jessie?" it repeats, the voice sounding more familiar this time around. Still, I fail to register who it is. Just a voice, in the darkness, bellowing my name. I take a few steps further, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever it is that wants my attention so badly.
"Yes?" I call out.
"Jessie?" the voice asks once again.
"Yes?" I answer again.
"There's been an accident." The voice says, apparently switching between two accents to deliver the news. Neither seem to be broken up or dejected by it, though. No, they sound like bored newscasters nonchalantly reading something off a teleprompter. Whoever these voices are, they're lying. Right?
"We aren't lying." Same monotonous tone.
Suddenly, a series of still images flash before my eyes, staying long enough for me to comprehend them, and then disappearing to make way for the new one. The SUV I was in driving down the road; a shot that looked identical to the first, except with the presence of red and blue lights on the left hand side, where the car was in the first shot appears next. I close my eyes, hoping to find solace in the darkness that no longer existed in this hallucination. Because, that's all this is, right?
"You're not hallucinating."
Despite the voice's constant egging, I manage to keep my eyes closed, only to find that it was useless. Utterly useless. The pictures didn't go away. No, there was no darkness waiting for me behind my eyelids. Just the next picture in this fucking slideshow: the SUV and a Squad Car, both blurry as if they were driving at high speeds down a countryside-esque road.
Click.
The SUV veers off the road and onto the grass. Some of the dirt is ripped from the earth and spit upward into the air, fired at the police.
Click.
The SUV slams into a tree. Again, the voice says in the same broken, disjointed monotone:
"There's been an accident."
My body begins to shake and shiver uncontrollably, tears well up in my eyes and it takes me all of my effort to keep them in. No, this isn't real. They're lying to me.
"No, we aren't."
"Is, is everyone alright?" I choke out between stifled sobs, trying to keep myself from breaking out in tears.
"No."
"They're dead."
"All of them."