Short Story - In progress

My name will soon be forgotten, and this life will pass. But while I am here I have impact. While I am here, there are people that matter. There is hope in this world, and we are in a point in our lives when many of us believe that anything is possible. At least I hope the majority of us haven't had this hope smashed yet. There is a way that life can bludgeon the hope out of someone. But who are we without hope? Do we become a cynical migrating mass, with the dark de-sensitivity of the urbanized world. Does the individual stop mattering? Do the faces in the crowd blend in with the background? Do the names in the obituary bring somber consideration? Is there a point when even the friend stops mattering? Everything sacrificed for the benefit of self? In this dreary, oppressive world, I migrate, hoping that I will move through life without this cynicism and despair. I hope that my happiness will pervade through the ranks of mobile zombies, that are frozen to the core. This marks a point in my life, where I hope the bystanders will turn to me and see the light that illuminates my life, as people turn toward someone that is the only person dancing in a room. My name may not matter, but a life certainly has impact. I believe that one person can save a life, and this is why...

It was raining and there was no one else on the road, and the only thought passing through my mind, was my Driver's Ed teacher talking about hydroplaning. My knuckles on the steering wheel were turning white, and I could feel the disconnection between my vision and sensation that comes with lightheadedness. The spotty vision and the inability to focus on the road in front of me were also warning signs. Sometimes I forget to breathe. In times of great stress it is as if all thought it directed to the fear, even instinct for survival. When I catch the corners of my vision going black I catch myself remembering when I was younger, I can't say young yet, to when I would hold my breath when the car would pass cemeteries.
With the thinking of other memories, I have lost track of the road, like those few seconds of normal driving where you catch yourself wondering what you were just paying attention to, and where did the last couple of seconds of road go? What did they look like? This time however, the fear had warrant. This time, I was missing a corner. This time, I was driving of the edge of the road.
I went with the gut instinct of turning quickly to correct. Every lecture my dad ever gave me about driving in hazardous conditions was gone. Every rational thought was gone. There only remained the desperate need to get back on the paved road. But as I wrenched the wheel of the jeep I was driving , it was like I could visualize the tires loosing their grip on the pavement. The weight of the car swayed, and it's like it began to tip. That's when I consciously noticed I had stopped breathing. The trees began to tip, and my mind took a moment to marvel at the new angle, like a child hanging upside down from the monkey bars. I'd never thought that a car could roll, like really roll. Not just roll over like you think of bad accidents. But this, this felt like it should be a movie stunt crash, with a roll cage, and neck braces. The only thing was, this wasn't a movie. This was real. And because this was real I closed my eyes, like a child, my only defense against the pain I know was about to come. I didn't want to hear the crack of wood or the screech of metal...

I remember (waking up)? and feeling cold and wet. Colder than I thought the rain was. I didn't want to try to move because I was afraid I wouldn't be able to. Right then, I couldn't feel much of anything and I was afraid that if I moved I would permanently damage something. I was afraid that the pain would be greater than anything I'd ever felt before. I'd once seen a friend break her collar bone and scream an agonizing scream, one that was haunting me at this moment. I was afraid I had done much worse. When I was lying there in the rain in a contorted position, I don't even think it occurred to me how I was going to get out of there. I suppose that I was hoping that someone would come and find me. Danger wasn't a factor in my mind. The hard part, it seemed to me, had already passed.
I didn't begin to panic until I realized I was slowly loosing my vision. How much blood had I lost? Did I have a concussion? What did it feel like to get concussion? Should I try to move? There were sickening fingers of cold climbing up my stomach, and my mouth had gone dry, and it felt as if my head was detached from my body. There seemed to be a hallowing out in my stomach and a numbing in my chest. No one was coming for me. No one was on the roads. No one knew yet. No one could save me. No one was going to be my miracle.

If I hadn't finally found the strength from somewhere that I wasn't aware existed, I don't know if any one would have seen me. The car had gone off the road, and was hidden by the trees. I got partway out of the trees and I was covered in mud. I didn't think I could drag myself any further. I was almost positive that I had broken my leg. I didn't stop long enough to think that there might be danger in the fact that I couldn't feel my leg anymore. I couldn't move it.
At first I thought I had lost so much blood that I was seeing a mirage, that I was like the lost boys from Lord of the Flies who were going crazy, seeing waving images above the sand. But I kept blinking, and shaking my head, and looking back and away. But he was still there. I started to pull myself toward him, dragging my leg behind me, and pushing myself up every time my arms collapsed under the weight of my body. All I could see was him, the branches in my way didn't matter, the mud, the cold the rain. All I could think about was getting to him, because he was my only chance. I didn't wonder why he would be out in weather like this. All I cared about was that he could help me, he was the only one here. I made it so that I was lying half in the road, and then I couldn't go anymore. All I could do was hope that he would see me. I felt the air leaving my lungs, and I couldn't seem to fill them again.
I heard something, but I couldn't pinpoint what it was, it was like I was trapped under water, and there was no way to swim to the surface. I thought I felt something, but I couldn't be sure, it felt as if the rain had stopped, but I couldn't be sure. Maybe my entire body had gone numb now. I heard the noise again, and then there was nothing.

The next thing I remember is that I was staring at a ceiling, with lights flashing by. I must have been on a stretcher, and been in the hospital. It downed on me that this was an image so cliché it should have ripped from a screen. I wondered if my heart had stopped, but didn't want to consider the possibility. All I knew about hospitals was what I had seen or read. I'd never so much as broken my leg. And what was the metallic smell, that was making me think of industrial cleaner, that never smells clean, despite the title of cleaning agent.