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Friday, April 10, 2015

waking up from my death

Oh shit! I suck in a quick deep breath. My chest aches as it heaves, and my head is spinning. I feel nauseated as I rub at the headache behind my eyes.  Pain crawls through my body. Taking a mental assessment, I note that everything hurts. Something large and heavy hit me. For some reason, I can’t get my head around it. What was I doing? I run my hand down to my stomach because it’s burning like I’m on fire. My hand comes away sticky and wet. Oh shit! Struggling to sit up, I try to open my eyes. There are light trails keeping me from seeing clearly, but I can tell, its blood. My hand is covered in blood. Blinking over and over, I try to clear my eyes, and I see it. My stomach is also covered in blood. Recollection floods my mind – the fight. We had a huge fight. Oh shit! He tore through me. He hit me so hard I flew into the bookcase and it shattered against the wall. Then there was the noise. It was loud and thundering. It echoes in my mind. At that moment I remember, I’ve been shot. 
As the realization moves on, tears well in my eyes, fear fills every fiber of my being, and my breathing stutters. I test my legs to see if they’ll move. My knees protest, but give way to movement. I kick at a pile of rubble, and try to make room to get up. A low grumble comes from beside me and I freeze. Cautiously, I look around, and see that my husband is asleep on the couch. I can tell by his snore, he’s sleeping off his drunk. The empties piled on the coffee table confirm my suspicions. As silently as possible, I pull myself up gingerly, and begin to move towards the back of the house. I hold the wall for support and grab my purse off our dresser. There’s no time to take anything else. Mentally, I begin thanking God that the boys are at my sister’s, and that I’m not dead. 
Tears are spilling down my cheeks, but I try to remain quiet as I make my way to the door. I don’t even close it behind me because it would make too much noise. I need to get away without waking him. I stumble down the steps of our trailer, trying to think of a getaway plan. I start for the car, but then I think of the noise the engine would make. I mentally reprimand myself, “Think think think”.  I look around. We don’t have any close neighbors, and the car is definitely not an option. My only choice is the woods. If I can just make it through the woods, the road is on the other side, and I can hitch a ride to the hospital. I start praying that there will be somebody out tonight. That old road never has much traffic. It would be a miracle if there was someone. I sling my purse over my head so that it hangs across my body, and I start for the woods.
Survival mode must’ve killed the pain as I find that my aching body begins to move faster the closer I get to the woods. I trip several times crossing through, but keep moving. That’s all I can do is keep moving. I have to make it. He could kill me next time, but there won’t be a next time. Exhausted, and determined to survive, I stumble out on to the road. Headlights are moving towards me as I stand captivated, unable to move. A large truck just misses me as the tires squeal. This is my chance. I will my legs to move to the sound as fast as my body will let me.  A man jumps out of the truck and is running towards me. He’s yelling but I don’t hear him. Ignoring his gestures and yelling, I move passed him to the passenger side of his truck and climb inside.
He follows me and rips the door open, “What are you doing?”
I swallow hard, “Please help me,” I reach out and grab him with my right hand as my left protects the injury in my stomach.  “I need help.” It’s all I can mutter.
He must notice the blood because the next thing I know he’s lifting my shirt to look at the wound. When he sees it, all he says is, “Damn it! Hang on!”
He climbs in on his side of the truck and the tires scream once more. I collapse deeper into the seat as I start to feel extremely sleepy. Thoughts fill my mind as I wonder if it’s the blood loss, or the exhaustion from the beating. Against my better judgment, I succumb to sleep, silently praying my rescuer doesn’t kill me either.


This is an excerpt from the first book in the Survivor Series: Resurrection, due to be released in the Summer of 2014.  You can find Meg Farrell's debut book, A Place to Stand, here.

Our guest post is by the author, Meg Farrell
She's from North Mississippi, US. She's a busy wife and mother, but decided to follow her dream of writing a novel. She completed the first draft of A Place to Stand during NaNoWriMo 2013 fulfilling a lifelong dream of becoming a writer.
Her motivation to finish her dream, by publishing her book, was found among the most amazing group of people at a small conference in Nashville, TN called UtopYA. It is a glorious place, aptly named. 
Her husband, Jason, and her have 3 children, 2 old dogs, and 3 surly cats.


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