Friend, Father, Husband, Hero

Lila

Lila

New member
Friend, Father, Husband, Hero
A short story by Lila​

Note: The story's point of view changes every time there are asterisks.

I am sitting cross-legged at my kitchen table, a cup of hot coffee clasped between my hands. I stare ahead of me into space – I am barely aware of my surroundings. One thought runs through my head, repeating itself endlessly:

Please ring. Please ring. Please…

I lift the mug to my lips, and the hot liquid pours into my mouth. I’ve forgotten that it’s scorching, and my tongue receives the consequence. The burning is a discomfort, but it is among the least of my worries at the moment.

My heart skips a beat as I hear the phone ring. I pick up the receiver before it has the chance to repeat itself.

“Hello?” I say, my voice shaking.

***

I am standing on the side of the road, disbelief coursing through my veins. I can feel the heat of the flames, hear the blaring sound of the ambulance, see the panic arising in the souls of the passers by. I can smell and taste the smoke as it permeates the air.

Just a few feet away from me, my best friend is being lifted onto a stretcher. His dark, wavy hair is disarrayed; his olive-toned skin is charred many places.

A girl is running towards me. Her short blond hair is a mess, and her face is streaked with tears and twisted in anguish.

“Will,” she says to me. “You have to call my mom.”

***

“Kelly? This is Will.”

My heart sinks. I don’t have time to talk to my husband’s best friend. “Will,” I say hurriedly. “Sam isn’t home right now. And I apologize, but I’m waiting for another call and – ”

“Kelly, slow down. Take a few deep breaths. Sam is with me, and so is your daughter.”

I gasp. “Bethany? She’s with you? Is she OK? Why didn’t she come home this afternoon?” I shout. I’m nearly in hysterics. My fifteen-year-old daughter, Bethany, didn’t come home after school today. I’d tried calling her cell phone about fifty times, but she didn’t reply.

“Calm down, Kelly. I’m going to tell you what happened.”

To be continued​
 
Thank you! :) Here's the next part:

***

My thighs stick to the vinyl of the seat and my palms sweat. The light filtering through the trees is bizarrely calming, and I honestly feel like I could fall asleep at any second.

Today, none of the teenagers on my bus are cursing. They aren’t even talking at all, period. The windows have all been pushed down as far as they go. It’s too hot of a day to do anything.

I yawn as I approach the next intersection. As I begin to turn, a reckless young driver in a red convertible speeds toward me. The imbecile, I think to myself.

He doesn’t stop.

Panic flashes across my eyes, and suddenly, I am fully awake again. How am I going to avoid a collision? Instinctively, I veer right….

Into a ditch.

***

Screams of terror. Blood. Fire. Familiar faces stricken with agony.

I hear the thud of the buss driver falling out of her seat and onto the ground… whatever can be considered the ground at this point. The bus is in a ditch.

I try not to panic, but it’s virtually impossible. I take a few deep breaths and stick my head out the window. Somehow, there’s been a collision… and there’s fire…

We have got to get out of here, NOW.

“Bethany!” calls a familiar voice. I quickly identify it as my best friend, Carla.

“Carla, where are you?” I shout back. I climb out of my seat and search for my friend. I hear no response.
 
I quite enjoy this peice...
The way its written..Not past-tense but in the present.
"My thighs stick to the vinyl of the seat and my palms sweat. "
Not
"My thighs stuck to the vinyl of the seat and my palms were sweating."

I definitly like it. Its captivating and instantly got my attention.
Kudos to you! :)
I really hope you plan on posting more...
 
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