The Crush

“You…have to…” The Man pauses to inhale deeply and harshly before continuing, “hurry… Can’t hold…it…m-much longer!” The Woman comes to groggily, her vision blurry and her body disjointed. She slowly takes in her surroundings; it’s dark and what little she can see is coated in a fine layer of dust and particulates.

She lies prone on the rubble and pock marked ground and as she gazes down at herself, it feels as though she is viewing someone else’s body through a dirty lens. Her spatial awareness notifies her that she is directly beneath something that would absolutely snuff out her existence, the gloom adding to the adrenaline coursing through her.

The Woman jerks her head up to get a view of what is above her and that simple action causes her skull to erupt with excruciating pain. Touching her fingers gingerly to the source, they come back bloodstained. She lets out a soft gasp before choking and coughing. A terrifying miasma of colors dancing behind her eyelids.

The Man coughs and groans, alerting The Woman to his presence once again. Not two feet in front of her, The Man is crouched down supporting an enormous portion of concrete, rebar and wire protruding from its sides comparable to an industrialized sea urchin from the depths of hell. Electrical sparks flicker sporadically in the background, highlighting The Man resembling a disturbed and bloody modern day Atlas. The Woman realizes upon further inspection, that she can actually see portions of the rebar perforating the man’s torso and hands. A wave of nausea and horror fill her body; she attempts to steel her face.

The Man’s pain filled gaze burns into her when she brings her eyes up to meet his. The agonized expression slowly transforming into an unwavering determination. “Hey…you’re ok….”the man coughs and a thin trickle of blood escapes the side of his mouth before dripping down to his mangled chest. The Man ignores the blood and continues to meet her eyes. He has to clear his throat before he rasps, “Get up…go there…” He uses his head to motion in the direction of a window to the side of them. Its panes lay in a shattered and haphazard mess on the floor beneath it. She looks back to The Man, “W-w-what ab-b-out you?” He lets out a wet laugh, “Don’t…think..i-it’s in…the cards…”. The Man motions to the window again, “Go.”

The Woman feels tears sting her eyes as she nods to The Man and clambers to her feet. She looks back at The Man once more, his eyes gentle and encouraging as he nods in approval, before she runs to the window and hefts herself over the sill and onto the blacktop of the paved parking lot outside.

The Woman sinks to the ground, wraps her arms around her legs and hides her face on the tops of her knees as she weeps brokenly. The sound of emergency vehicles growing louder with proximity as they approach from a distance. She lifts her head, searching for the direction of their arrival.

She tries to turn back for one more glance at the man, but she hears a roar of pain and the building trembles with the force of a large object no longer meeting obstruction; she dares not fully turn back. She looks down instead, noticing just under her knee lies a wallet. She flips the worn fold open, a sob lodged in the back of her throat as she whispers, “Happy Birthday, Mr. Greene.”