Wreck

There were two reasons I didn't panic immediately when I regained consciousness in the twisted wreck of my Honda; I hadn't fully comprehended the fact that I had just dodged an untimely death, and I was still as drunk as hell. It all started with a guttural yelp and the rattle of teeth against the dash board. My eyes peeled open and the sickly taste of iron coated my tongue. I spat out a mouthful of yellow tooth fragments and struggled against the warped wall of metal that pinned me against my seat. My left arm was a mangled mess, and I had a few inches that I could move my right. I started screaming at the top of my lungs. I don't think I was even saying anything, I was just shouting out an S.O.S hoping that someone would come towards a bone chilling scream in the middle of the outback at this time of night. I c****d my head around feverishly trying to spy something hopeful in the darkness, but what was I thinking. Funny how your mind works in a crisis. After I struggled for another few minutes it really started sinking in, and the gravity of the situation practically whispered it into my ear: I'm stuck in this car and I'm going to die out here afraid and alone. I froze completely still and closed my eyes for a few seconds before I received a crashing wave of adrenaline. I jerked my body around and screamed and sobbed for what must have been at least 2 minutes before the pain got too much, I had run out of energy and my voice was reduced to a wheeze. My blood and tears had pooled in the folds of my jacket like little lagoons of pink champagne, the kind my mum was drinking when she told me that my dad is a piece of s**t. I hung my head and sobbed silently for the longest time before I even had the strength to raise my chin again. The urgency had dulled for the most part, and it had slowly reshaped itself into a heavy, damp helplessness that forced my cheeks to droop like one of those loose-skinned dogs. You see a lot of public service announcements on T.V about drinking and driving, and they are just white noise until you find yourself in a situation like this, or you arrive at the scene of a horrible car accident on the Saturday morning of the Easter long weekend to find some poor, drunk, dead bastard trapped in his sedan which is now wrapped around a tree. Makes it even worse when the coroner’s report comes in and they say he didn't even die from the crash but bled out over a few hours or withered from exposure. Really makes you think. I couldn't accurately tell you how long it was before I passed out, but I did. I woke up with a couple flies in my mouth and the sun in my eyes. I coughed and spat a few times and remembered exactly where I was, which rebooted the weight of helplessness in my chest cavity. I decided to do a status report, just like at work, and see if anything had changed after the 'incident'. Right arm: Still moving but trapped against the steering wheel. Left arm: completely numb, but it wasn't hurting anymore which is a plus. It's the little things, y'know? I ran my tongue against the inside of my gums. Front teeth: forcibly removed and sitting on the dashboard. My clothes were damp with morning dew and had sticky patches from blood and saliva, and my skin felt like the surface of a cat’s tongue, but I was still very much alive, and it was morning, so a car could show up at any minute. I tilted my head to the side and stared at the road for a while. Little cubes of windscreen were scattered across the asphalt amongst the fallen leaves of the tree that I had failed to avoid. The only other time I had been in a car accident was when I was a 11. It was a Thursday morning and I burst back into the kitchen after narrowly missing my bus to school. My darling Mother was holding my little sister in her arms, who was balling her eyes out, and trying to hold a decent conversation with a state-of-the-art hands-free telephone pinned tightly between ear and shoulder. She took one look at me and I swear her lips rolled back like a great white shark. A few minutes later I was receiving a tongue lashing in the car as she sped me to school, climbing over the speed limit every so often to pass another 'ass hole' in the rat race. She was spewing out vitriol about the importance of being on time and how I need to get my act together when she rear-ended a Ute and sent her travel mug hurtling through the cab, showering everyone on board with a luke-warm brown spray. The clash of titans that ensued between the overweight tradesmen and my over-this-s**t mother was only drowned out by the banshee wail of my little sister as I clutched my Captain Planet lunch box and tried to think of a way not to get blamed for this. The road didn't change much over the time I had spent staring at it brainlessly like a zombie. The sun was out in full force now, and I could feel my body start to cook under my jacket. My left arm had started throbbing with a dull pain, like hot mud was trying to force itself through my veins, my mouth felt like it was coated in a film of pus, and my legs were twitching rhythmically in an attempt to maintain blood flow. I didn't know how long I would last but I had survived longer than I should have by now. The delirium had set in, my brain started to shut down the less important sections to conserve energy and I decided that I would do my best to ride this out. I woke up to a cold hand touching my neck gingerly and screamed as loud as I could. An old man in blue jeans and a white singlet flinched backwards and tripped over his boots landing flat on the ground. He apologized for startling me and explained he thought I was dead. I looked over to see a ute parked slightly beyond the tree that had become one with my vehicle. He rubbed the back of his head and stood up to meet my eye level and I just stared into his leathery face blankly. He said something that went completely over my head and I just started balling like my little sister in the back of my mum's car. 'This is pretty bad mate.' He exclaimed matter-of-factly. I tried to beg for his help as best I could, but I only managed to wheeze the word 'Please' in two syllables. 'Lemme go get some help mate, I won't be long just wait one sec.' He dashed towards his car with a limp and I just started sobbing again. He rummaged through the driver side door of the Ute and hobbled back to my side with an old mobile to his ear. He muttered some heavily accented gibberish to whomever was on the line before ending the call and stuffing the phone into his back pocket. 'I called a couple mates to come help ya mate.' He stated smiling and waving flies from his unshaven face. 'Th-Thank..' I managed to cough out. 'No worries mate,' he replied quickly, placing his hand on my right shoulder, 'gotta look out for folks out ere'. After a couple minutes of old mate interrogating me with binary questions that only required a nod or a head shake another ute pulled over onto the other side of the road. A younger, fitter man with a mop of black hair stepped out casually, his clean boots making a rhythmic clip-clop as he walked across the road. 'Hey there mate.' He rasped in a hush tone. 'This is pretty bad.' I blinked a couple times at his introduction and was overcome with a wave of dread. Something about the way he smiled and the way old mate was standing behind him sheepishly just struck a foul chord with me, so I stayed quiet. Old mate muttered something to the new guy while maintaining eye contact with me. The new guy's smile widened when he heard whatever it was and he crouched down with one arm resting against my car seat. 'You aren't gonna survive this boy-o' he said shaking his head. The hairs on the back of my neck managed to stand even though my skin was slick with sweat. 'W-why?' I stammered like a frightened child. The new guy ran his hand through my grimy hair and looked me dead in the eye, 'Because we're going to kill you, and then we're going to eat you.'