The most frustrating thing…
If you’ve ever written a novel, you’ll know about this. It’s when you get to the point where you can work all day, then look at what you’ve done, and it makes next to no difference against what you already have done, and it’s barely scratching the surface of what’s left.
Before the truck stopped, I was out and running, the passenger side door yawning open behind.
“Hold on,” Ben was shouting, “That thing’s going to explode!”
It could, I knew that. After rolling end over end the car had landed upright, but the engine was on fire. I could see the rain steam wherever it touched metal. There was no helping the driver. The girl in the passenger seat was screaming, though, her skin was torn up by broken glass and the driver’s brain was splattered across her face.
“Help me! Help!”
Ben turned back to the truck while I pulled vainly at the door handle. “I’ve got a crowbar in the truck. That thing’s not opening on its own.”
“No time, Ben.” I clamped my hands onto the door and the frame of the car. The metal was hot; I ignored the broken glass scraping my palm. I pulled as hard as I could, but the metal groaned and stayed put.
“Help, please.” She touched my hand. Her eyes were desperate. The heat seared the sole of my foot through my shoe, worn thin from walking. I braced again and pulled.
“Hurry up, man!” Ben threw down the crow bar and ran to us. I tossed aside the scrap and scooped up the girl. With a screech, agony, the door gave. The tank finally caught as I walked away, the girl in my arms. I could feel the heat on my back, my hair buzzing and burning. It was intense, seared me through my jacket as I shielded her as best I could from the flying, burning debris. A bit of shrapnel flew past my ear, humming like a bee. I was on my knees when Ben reached us, pushed me down and threw himself over us.
Other cars had stopped by now. I could see the flashing lights of an ambulance or a police car down the road, still a mile or so off.
“Come on, Ben,” I said, as I laid the girl down by the side of the road, “there’s nothing left to do here.”
“Hey!” A young man stepped between me and the truck. “I’m with the Trib’, can I ask you some questions?”
“The what?”
“The tribune. Local paper, no big deal. Did you see the car go off the road? What’s your name?”
“No, I didn’t.” I pushed him aside.
“But, your name?”
“I don’t have a name. I’m a golem.”
“Gollum? Like in the Lord of the…”
“No,” I climbed up into Ben’s rig. “Nothing like that.”
Why doesn’t wordpress like my tabs? Whatever. Go back to sleep now.