Goodbye Terry by Terveen Gill

There’s blood everywhere. Some from the gash on my forehead. Some from the cuts I can only feel. Lying on broken glass isn’t just painful. It’s a feeling that’s unexplainable. Especially when you’ve been tossed into the air and have landed hard on a carpet of sharp, jagged pieces. I can’t see right. The impact has shaken my brain, blood drips into one eye. There’s smoke. I’m suffocating inside my helmet.

I have to take it off. I need some air. The clasp is eating into my chin. My fingers pinch and pull at the plastic. My head is finally free. Now the glass is digging into my scalp.

God help me.

I must move. But there’s so much pain. That’s when I hear my name.

Terry.

I lie still. The voice is familiar. Where did it come from? Please someone speak again.

Terry.

There. I know who it is. We were riding together. Everything was normal. We were alright. Right before that car swerved into our lane. It was bright red and too fast. That’s all I remember. He’s close by. My elbows are my legs now. They’ll drag me to him. Little by little, I move forward.

Terry.         

I hear him again and tell him I’m coming. His legs. I can see his legs. Just a little more. The pain makes me vomit. More blood. I’m going to die. But not before I see his beautiful face. I can do this. The glass is behind me and the road is kinder. My body suddenly feels lighter. I’m almost there.

I see his head. Where’s his helmet? His eyes are open, staring at nothing.

Oh my God. He’s dead.

The red car explodes behind me. My ears are ringing. But I hear him again.

You’re safe now. Goodbye Terry.