Rain trickles down the sides and even on the surface of the long, reaching bridge. What it lacks in width it makes up for in height. Among the rush hour traffic are cars, trucks ,and all matters of transportation. However, one crimson truck stands out from the rest. This truck is unlike others in the fact it’s front is halfway off the bridge having broken through the thick cement surrounding the sides. Inside this truck sits a distressed fourteen year old girl with dilated emerald green eyes. Her hair, whose color is only described as the same as the suns sits in a ponytail. Also in the truck, but far less visibly frightened, a light brown haired man of age of forty. He holds the redhead in his arms wishing someone would come; that someone would do something for him and his daughter.
Tears rest on the girl’s eyelids but she remains relatively calm, understanding that she can not afford to be upset. The headlights from the other cars' sit motionless.
“Camille, you are doing so great. Just remember to keep calm, help will be here soon.” The man’s young and soft voice strives to reassure her that everything is going to be ok.
Camille, the redhead, shakes her head unable to respond verbally as her mind floods with one inescapable thought: it is all my fault . With loud sirens and bright lights help does come after what feels like hours was,in reality, no longer than a few minutes. After quickly glancing at the lights the fathers gaze turns back to Camille.
“Ok help is here, we are going to get you out first.Can you feel your legs yet?”
“N…...no...I….I can’t”
He nods, understanding how this will affect her for most likely the rest of her life.
“The first responders will help, they know what to do.”
As the words are spoken a handful of firefighters quickly attach the ratchet straps onto the most solid parts of the truck.
“You need to tighten the straps at the same time and pace or else it might make the truck even more unstable than it already is.” says a firefighter in ashy white bunker gear to the firefighter to his left. Firefighters to his left are far less noticeable dawning black gear. The two firefighters working with the straps nod and each reply“Yes sir” before quickly and uniformly tightening the straps. The straps, while not the ideal tool for the job, manage to bring the back end of the truck to be flat on the ground.
Stolen story; please report.
The first firefighter comes into sight of the father and daughter look to each other. Before Camille can speak her father starts.
“Cammie, my angel you are in far worse shape and are closer to the side of the firefighter you will be saved first. Besides, I am right behind you and I am not going anywhere.” His warm and soothing smile attempts to work it’s charm, to both reassure her he will be ok and to persuade her to go.
“No, I can’t leave you…..” her voice normally soft like her dad's quivers and trails off. “And I’m not losing you.”
“You are not losing me sweetie, I know you and your brother need me, that is why I will be right behind you. I have to be.” Despite his best efforts tears form in his eyes and before Camille has another chance to protest, the firefighters force open her door and lift her onto the stretcher holding her spine in alignment the entire time. As she is lifted out the truck the sudden loss of the weight causes the truck to creak and shift but the truck remains upright.
The firefighters push Camille off towards the ambulance to receive proper treatment but the straps holding the truck strain and snap. Despite the quick and timely effort of the firefighters, who hold the truck up with nothing more than their bodies, the truck splits in half taking her dad with it.
The sight hits Camille all at once, like a gale force wind filling up with one thought: it’s my fault.
“Dad!” the word gushes out of her. She wants to curl into a ball but can't. As her tears give way and the burning of her soul overtakes the sadness, she remains painfully still.
The memory jolts Camille awake. She sits in bed panting and sweating as she trembles. “It has been six years, you are fine you just worked yourself up Camille. Nothing will ever hurt you again,” The redhead swiftly reminds herself. She takes a deep breath and tries to push the painful memory from her mind but it does not work. The memory replays over and over in her mind. Knowing she will not get any more sleep, or relief from her mind, Camille gets herself out of bed. Now wide awake Camille begins to get her things ready for the day to come.