Gasping, reaching, frantically clawing at what she presumed was the sky, attempting to gain freedom from the mass. She could feel it rushing, faster and faster to a place she did not wish to find. Every surface break was followed by an immediate shove underwater, coming from the murky liquid itself. One extended airbreak gave the woman time to survey her surroundings. The scene was disastrous. Above the waterline lay the tattered ruins of a neighborhood. Roofs stood in the water, slanted and misshapen, tiles slipping away one by one. All material aspects of life was whisked away by the water. Pots, pans, dresses, dolls, books, TV’s. As the water surged onwards, she was able to stay afloat, orienting herself. The woman searched frantically, hoping to find something, anything she could hold onto. Yet the rainy haze obscured her vision terribly. Underneath the water another fight for life occurred. As the woman moved with the fluid, her leg caught suddenly. But the water kept moving. She slammed back first into the metal hood of a car. Her breathes contained no air now, as the water kept pushing her backwards, and the car’s windshield wiper held her firmly in place. Drunk from her lack of oxygen, the woman weakly kicked her leg, attempting to detach her jeans from the metal. The wiper snapped, and floated away, as the woman was carried on by the water.
Soon after, moving through the water the woman had slammed head first into a street light, unaffected by the disaster. She gripped the pole with ferocity, refusing to obeying the water’s command. One hand above the other, she pulled herself up higher and higher, ridding her entire body from the mass. Finally, as her last foot pulled free, a thought struck her mind. Her head hurt, badly. She felt dizzy, as if she had been spun around and around, over and over again, each and every time spinning faster and faster. Waves of nausea and vomiting plagued her during the moments that followed, and the pain was a burning sensation with every convulsion. But she hung on, her eyes going in and out of focus as she stared at the moving water. After the water had lost some of its power, the woman gradually eased herself in. She blundered around, scanning the perimeter for anything familiar, but her memory failed. After trudging through fallen tree limbs, telephone poles, and roofs she saw it. Through the shield of rain came blinking light. She thought they were growing bigger, but couldn’t focus hard enough to tell for sure. Searching for something to help her get the attention of whatever was up there, she scaled a one story home and began waving frantically on the flat roof. The lights grew closer. She moved her entire body ignoring the pain for this one glimmer of hope. As the pounding of the blades grew louder, it was all too much. The woman collapsed in an exhausted heap. She now knew what these blinking lights in the sky were, and she prayed the pilot had seen the movement. The woman could not again muster the energy to save her own life. She rolled on her back facing the sky, tasting one last drop of freedom, as darkness enveloped her mind. She awoke to deafening sounds, reminding her once again of the ache in her pulsating head. She glanced around, drunk from the pain. To her right a small girl, about 7 or 8. She looked terrified and was gazing between the woman, and the pilot whose head hung slightly to the left. Realization suddenly came to the woman as she looked from the dented fire hydrant laying on the floor, back to the pilot. The window was smashed, and wind played with every object. A parachute was station next to the woman’s feet, and she instinctively picked it up and placed it on the back of the shivering child. The girl said nothing, but let her do so. There was no time to argue. “You’re going to have to jump. Once you’re away from the helicopter pull the cord and the parachute will open.” The woman yelled to be heard over the noise. “Do you see the large building with all the people outside?” The woman pointed through the rain. The girl nodded, tears in her eyes. “Aim for that building.” The woman could feel the helicopter dropping as she spoke. “I’ll try and steer the helicopter away.” Again the girl nodded, but the tears had fallen. The woman embraced the girl tightly. She felt compelled to offer even the little comfort her touch could give. The girl held on, shaking from the fear and cold. The woman let go, allowing the girl time to turn, facing the outside world. After a single forced breathe, she jumped. The woman watched her go, untroubled by the soon coming danger. The girl was close to the ground now she could see. The bright red parachute guided the woman’s vision through the haze. She turned her attention back to the helicopter, that headed toward the shelter where so many survivors would be gathered. The woman checked the pulse of the pilot, not thinking he might be alive until now, but her fingers were met with stillness. She pushed the pilot out of the chair, and weakly sat in his place. Her hair flew in every direction. The woman gripped the cyclic, assuming the large stick protruding from the floor was infact the steering implement. She tilted it back towards herself, and the nose rose higher, causing her to nearly tumble backwards over the seat. Quickly, she moved the stick in the opposite direction, away from herself, and the helicopter tilted downwards. In her haste, she has pushed the cyclic so far forward it stuck. Growing frantic she pulled and yanked with ferocity but move it did not. The ground was approaching fast. She was running out of time, but unexpectedly the image of the small girl flashed in her mind. Anna was her name. Distracted by the revelation she sat back her in chair, waiting for the ground to welcome her descent. Anna was her daughter.
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