Pretty Little Truths

Chevelle

**September 14, 2014**

11:45pm

I watch the illuminated numbers against the dark dashboard as they slowly creep closer to midnight. Sierra and I cruise through the rain-slicked streets of downtown in her new 350Z. The headlights glancing off of the wet roads, leading our way.

We’re both singing at the top of our lungs, dancing in our seats. Not having a care in the world. I’m bobbing my head and tapping on the dash with my finger drumsticks, watching as the light changes from red to green.

*Aaannddd we don’t move. *

None of the cars in line do. I glance at the vehicles in front of us, taking in the oncoming traffic, hoping that we get through the light before it changes again.

The two left turning cars finally turn, the last just barely squeaking by as the light changes from yellow to red. 

• Again.*

Thunder rolls and lightning strikes overhead, announcing the arrival of yet another storm that’s been moving its way across the state over the past few hours. 

*Gotta love Oklahoma! If you get tired of the weather, just wait a few minutes, it’s bound to change.*

Amy Lee, the lead singer of Evanescence, croons through the speakers as I catch sight of the time.

“Wake me up inside. Wake me up inside.” Sierra and I both belt out the lyrics at the same time, causing us to fold over in a fit of giggles. Singers we are not, but that fact alone doesn’t stop us. Never has, never will.

My will bidding powers are seriously lacking! We are still stuck at the cursed stoplight; the truck in front of us obviously giving up, as they drive through the light. Sierra glances in my direction, asking for permission to follow suit. I shake my head no; it’s not worth the risk.

The headlights of an approaching vehicle from the left ricochets throughout the car, casting Sierra in an eerie glow. Chills breakout over my skin, a feeling of dread racking my body as a pair of headlights from behind glare against the pouring rain.

The vehicle from behind doesn’t appear to be slowing down and the dread turns into fear as it slowly begins to creep into every part of my body, spreading through my veins, seeping into every cavity.

“Sierra!” I holler, looking in the side mirror and verifying how close they are to her car, and then glance in her direction when I hear the blast of a horn.

“Chevy!” she screams, as her eyes make contact with my own, a knowing look written clear upon her face.

The sound of tires screeching against the wet asphalt sounds in the suddenly too silent air around us. The crunch of impact, the unmistakable sound of metal connecting with metal assaults my ears as screams filter into the air, blending in with the chaos all around.

The force of the impact causes me to slam sideways, my temple making contact with the passenger side window.

Everything happens so quickly and yet in slow motion.

My mind tries to process everything going on around me when I feel a second impact from behind. A second crunch. More metal sliding against metal, more screaming. 

My body thrusts forward, the resistance of the seatbelt searing as it cuts into my chest. Even with the resistance of the seatbelt, a sharp piercing pain immediately radiates through my skull, my forehead smashing against the rock-hard dash. 

I feel the slick warmth of blood running down my face as everything around me becomes obscured, fading into a silent, black nothingness.**

River

September 10, 2016

“‘One day’ the little girl says, ‘I will be the one to rule over these lands and all of the people around me will be blessed beyond compare.’ The little girl looks over at the little green dragon hiding in the cave and whispers to him, as if there is anyone else around to overhear her words. ‘One day, you will be free to fly amongst the clouds, to bask in the sun. One day all of our dreams will come true.’”

Closing the cover on the book, I glance over at Angelica, taking in the real-life sleeping beauty before me. Her auburn hair is spread out on the pillow beneath her, a mass of fire surrounding her delicate features. Her smooth, tawny complexion, a contradiction to her hair. A sprinkling of freckles graces her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose, just where her dark lashes fan against the apples of her cheeks. 

I often find myself wondering if she were to open her eyes, if they would be the vivid emerald of her mother, or the rich ochre of her father.

When she was three years old, Angelica was playing on the playground with a Mother’s Day Out group that her mom was a part of. She fell off of the swing when a little boy came barreling by her. You could hear the crack of bone breaking as Angelica’s head hit the ground.

Doctors did everything that they could do, they opened up her skull to try to relieve the pressure that was brought on by the contusion but in the end, Angelica wasn’t want to wake from her slumber. 

If only her story could be like that of Sleeping Beauty and she be awoken by *true loves kiss*. But real life isn’t a fairytale.

“Mr. Brooks.” A voice calls from behind me, pulling me from my musings of the sleeping girl before me. Lora is looking at me with sad, tear-filled eyes. “Room 228 is ready whenever you’re finished up here. His visitors have left for the day.” She reports, letting me know that my time with Angelica has come to an end.

Gathering up the hardback book that I had reserved for the little fiery princess alone, I place it back into its place on the shelf next to her bed until our next meeting.

“River, what you do...” Lora stops for a moment, clearing her throat as she puts herself back together, “well, it means a lot. And not just to the families.” Giving me a slightly unsteady smile, her teary eyes not leaving my own, Lora places her hand on my shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze before excusing herself to tend to her next patient.

“Brody, how are you today buddy?” I ask as I enter his galaxy. Brody’s parents, with the permission of the hospital, have turned Brody’s room into an astronaut’s dream. Brody is an eleven-year-old boy who slipped into a coma after a tragic four-wheeler accident. 

Many say that Brody is lucky to be alive, unlike his older sister who was driving the piece of machinery when they slammed into the back of a garbage truck that had stopped in the middle of the road, unbeknownst to them. Others would beg to differ, raising questions of how it’s fair to him to keep him in a vegetative state, for the comfort of his family, instead of letting him move on. 

The naysayers aren’t aware of the brain activity that the scans provide, showing that he is much more than a vegetable, even if only on the inside.

I enjoy reading to the sleeping, as I refer to them. I hold onto the hope that by reading to them, it helps improve their brain activity and that maybe one day, they will awaken and will be able to remember the stories that I told them.

Sometimes I read from books, other times, I weave intricate stories together of faraway lands and adventures that one can only dream of.

Brody is one of the few recipients of the tall tales that I pour into the small confines of their long-term hospital room.

“What will it be today, buddy? A mission to mars or maybe a walk amongst the stars? Or maybe battling with foreign invaders who managed to sneak into our world through a black hole?” I hear the door shut behind me, and glance up at the clock. 

“It all started on September 11, 2002.” I start off this story, just as I have many that came before it. “The first tower was hit, and the world was in fear of what its future may hold. When the second tower came crashing down, a mass panic spread throughout the continent that many felt so secure. In a matter of moments, the United States and the world as we knew it was forever changed.” 

And for the next half hour, it’s just me, Brody and hundreds of alien life forms trying to take over our crippled planet.