Young Writers Society

A bump in the road caused Oakley to be flung forward and forced to look up from her engaging hardcover novel. Her hair got caught in her eyes, and she winced.

"Sorry!" Aunt Laura said, "I didn't see that pothole."

"Well it was right in the middle of the road, Mom." Ben laughed from the passenger seat, "How could you not have seen it?"

Laura shrugged and ignored her son's comment. "How are the bags doing back there, Oaks? Nothing is squished?" The car bounced a little as they drove off of land and onto a narrow, although long, two lane bridge.

Oakley tore her mind from her book, pulling herself back to reality, checking their grocery bags to make sure the bread hadn't been flattened. "Yeah," she replied, "everything seems okay."

"Oh good," her aunt sighed in relief, relaxing her hands on the wheel. Why was she so tense? "God knows Ben loves his toast, don't you Benji?"

He teased her with a punch that sounded as if it were painful and giggled, "Don't call me that, Ma. I'm not seven years old."

Her aunt smiled, but it was a smile that seemed to have no emotion. She turned her attention back to the road, as the vehicle swerved into the opposite lane. She watched in horror. Ben's hands were at the wheel, but he wouldn't purposely drive the car over to the other lane, would he? His hands were fumbling at the steering wheel, and Oakley realized he was trying to turn them back to the proper lane. That must have been what he was doing.

But, he hadn't been quick enough. The vehicle was met face to face by an oncoming truck, and swerved to the left, bounding off of the bridge. Oakley felt the book slip from her hard grip, and her stomach fell, a feeling similar to being a passenger on a descending airplane.

She had no time to scream, just time to gasp, watching the dark water below come closer and closer to the windshield.

Water pooled into the car, cold and cold and colder on her toes, her ankles, her shins. It was rising. Fast. "Laura!" She screamed.

Her aunt was holding her forehead, blood seeping from her hairline. She must have hit it on the dashboard. Her eyes were wide with panic. "Ben. Ben, are you alright?" Her voice was shaky, barely a whisper.

The boy was slugged over the dashboard, his head at the windshield. She saw him twitch, as if his nerves were poking at him. She thought she saw a twitch at his mouth, his lips almost seeming to curve up in a grin, baring a set of sharp teeth. It must have a been a trick of the light.

The water was at her waist, freezing her bare legs. She cursed herself for deciding to wear shorts that day. She looked to the door, twisting at the handle. Pull, Oakley. PULL.

The rest seemed like a blur, the door was open and she poured out of it. Her aunt fought to drag herself out of the flooded vehicle.

She looked back, only seeing water, no evidence of Ben inside the car. She noticed a sea animal's silhouette swimming away, avoiding the scene of the crash. Her lungs burned in her chest, and she was forced to breathe in a mouthful of water. She felt it, cold on her throat, as pain laced her nerves. She forced herself to swim, swim, SWIM. But she didn't know which way was up, or which was down. She felt a hand on her wrist—

—and jolted awake, sitting upright in her bed, pulled into a coughing fit. Her stomach stopped retching when she realized there was no water in her lungs, she wasn't in the cold lake, and that she was safe in her own bed. Her breathing wouldn't slow, no matter how hard she tried to take control of it. She counted down from 100 in her head, waiting for her heart beat to fade back to normal.

The night was stormy, and the rain dropped harshly against her window, painting the walls with dark grey streaks. She beckoned her panicking mind to quiet. It was just a dream, Oakley. It was only a dream. But it hadn't been a dream at all, had it? It was all very real, reminding her of the accident that nearly killed her alongside her aunt.

She felt paralyzed, reluctant to fall back onto her mattress. A part of her believed that if she did, she would be pushed back into the cold deadly waters, unable to breathe. The rest of her night was filled with tossing and turning, trying so hard to fall back asleep, and at the same time willing herself to keep her eyes open. But eventually, she gave in to the friendly ghost of sleep, washing her away from reality and into the depths of slumber.