She woke up with a grimace. Pain arced through her entire body and she moaned, pulling her hand to her forehead for a moment. And it was only then that she realized she was upside down. Bahamas-clear water blues tried to focus as she attempted to take in her surroundings. What was the last thing she remembered? Eyes focused on the cracked reality in front of her. Reality was fractured. Was that possible? She blinked, trying to focus her icy hues. There were holes throughout the glass, which made it mark white in a spider webbing. She turned to look directly in front of her, and saw a large hole through the glass and realized something right around man sized came through or went out. She closed her eyes, as the light only caused the throbbing pain in her skull to worsen.
There was blood on her hand, dripping from her head. Head wounds bleed profusely. She remembered that, no matter how shallow, they always looked the worse. It was then that it clicked there was someone else in the vehicle with her and she carefully turned her head back to look at the person next to her. Yeah, she'd looked right over him when she was trying to get her bearings. It was hard to breathe. And that unpleasant odor didn't help at all.
"Hey. You ok?" She asked, reaching up to undo her seatbelt. Her hand came in contact with plastic, and she lowered her head to look down. Well, actually, lifted it as she was upside down. And wasn't able to do so. Something had the back of her head. Her hair. She stopped trying to look down against gravity and instead looked up at the roof of the car. The fastidious French braid she pleated every morning was captured between the seat and the roof, and it was only then she realized she was much lower in the seat than she should have been. If she'd been riding in the car normally, her head would have been up there, and her legs wouldn't be scrunched up below her.
She reached started feeling her hips, for her pockets. There was something cylindrical digging into her thigh, pinned between her flesh and what felt like the dashboard. The guy next to her hadn't responded yet, but he was breathing. She could hear the soft gasps he was making through his partially opened mouth. He didn't look familiar at all. Well, from what she could see now, which wasn't much. Her hand, her right hand...yeah, it felt like a thousand needles were stabbing into her fingers as she tried to reach for that cylinder, hoping for all the world that it was a pocket knife. She could hear a blaring in the distance, indistiguishable with the addition of the roaring and pounding in her brain. Tears of frustration fell as she spent another minute trying to get to the cylinder. By the gods she was tired. Suddenly, it wiggled and she cried out with this small victory.
What was the last thing she remembered? There was a guy. She closed her sky colored hues as she thought, trying to excercise her mental faculties along with her arm. It was so tiring. The cylinder wiggled a bit more, and suddenly that was all she focused on. Mere seconds later, though it felt like an eternity, the cylinder slid into her hand. As she closed her fingers around it, she realized it was, in fact, a pocket knife. She relaxed her arm finally, but kept a grip on the knife. It fell downward, rising above her head as she waited for the burning sensation to pass. It was the omen of a cramp and she couldn't handle one of those right now.
She opened her eyes again, looking back to her trapped braid before she gritted her teeth and flicked the pocket knife open with her thumb. Her left arm was trapped between her and the seat, and she new she didn't have the energy to try and wiggle free. She thanked the higher power as the knife sliced through the strands with ease. She cut as close to her head as she dared, knowing Locks of Love could use the length. It would grow back.
Finally! The last bit was released and she felt a tension ease on her neck. She started to close the knife, and it almost slipped, but after a few attempts, it shut. She was cursing herself for her lack of dexterity. She knew she'd been in worse accidents than this before. Why was this so hard? Her stomach growled then, and she realized she must not of eaten recently. That was why she felt so weak. Way to go. She rested only a moment, getting dizzy from hanging upside down. Finally, she mustered up all the strength she had to look down, fighting gravity. It was an attempt to lean forward as well to free her left arm. She fought to keep her eyes open as she pulled at her arm, to assess the situation. The dash. The dashboard had caved in on her, pinning her to the seat. Her legs felt fine though. She could wiggle her toes, she thought. Ugh. What was the last thing she remembered? The guy. She was chasing a guy. What the hell was that smell?
She closed her eyes and sniffed, before they fluttered back open with realization. Gasoline. And that whirring noise was the motor still running. And smoke. She turned to look at the guy again. He was strapped in. The steering wheel was a twisted mess, how that happened, she had no idea. But she didn't have time to think on that. The significance was that the motor was running, she had no way to turn it off, and they were apparently leaking gas from somewhere. All in all, a very bad equation. Llidya lifted her skull to look back at the dashboard, reaching up to her hips to grasp the plastic. She pushed with everything she had, and the plastic mixed with some metal wrenched back a few inches. She didn't spend the time to think about it as she wiggled herself out from the cavity. She collapsed on the small space of the roof, and kicked out with her foot. A sharp, stabbing pain wrenched all the way from her foot to her skull as the window gave.
She took in deep breaths, her shaking hand coming forward with the pocket knife to cut the straps of the seatbelt. The guy was didn't seem to be alive, but there had to be CPR or something she could do if he was really dead. The straps free, she closed the knife, and began to shimmy backwards out of the car, feeling more and more lightheaded as she did so. She clutched the man with both hands by his arm pits as she started to drag him out. Every fiber of her being ached. The slight numbness that she had felt in her legs was subsiding, being replaced with jabbing pain. She didn't have time to look down to see what the problem was, as it was taking the last bit of everything she had to pull the unknown man from the vehicle. He didn't appear to be too injured, there wasn't much blood on him. She pulled a bit more, and no longer felt the weight of the car looming over her. She was out of the vehicle, now to get him out of the vehicle.
It was night time. Half moon. Why was she aware of that? Now free of the confines of the vehicle, she repositioned her arms around his torso, standing up. Black spots appeared before her eyes and a wave of nausea rolled through her stomach. Teeth gritted, she worked through it, dragging the man back. Now that she was certain she didn't know him, she was wondering who the hell he was. And how the hell they'd ended up in the car and in an accident. Wait. This was the guy. They guy she was chasing. But that didn't logically make sense. She was in the car with him. Were they chasing someone? Icy hues lifted to look up at the small fire, and she could see what they had hit. A concrete something or other.
The last bit of strength finally left her and she fell down. She knew there was no way she was getting back up soon. She turned her head to look at the car, herself between the wreck of metal and the stranger, then back to the stars. What was the last thing she remembered? The guy she was chasing. But he was in the car with her. But other than that...she didn't remember a thing, she realized. Bright flashes of red, white and blue appeared, creeping into the edge of her vision. She rolled her head to try and focus on the lights. It was odd, really. They seemed to be getting further away even as they sound grew stronger. Well, she knew she'd remember that strange occurance. As she finally slipped into unconsciousness, her last thoughts were pondering on who she was.
