Young Writers Society

Ian sat at his computer, scrolling down the screen of engagement rings. A smile played at his lips as he imagined his girlfriend’s reaction. Leslie was his dream girl; she was beautiful, intelligent, had a great sense of humor and incredibly opinionated when it came to politics. With his recent promotion at Pilot Industries, Ian was upgrading her diamond and was even considering moving into a nicer neighborhood.

The quietness of the evening was suddenly interrupted by a loud crash. The foundation of Ian’s home rocked beneath him as wood splintered. Jumping up in surprise, Ian coughed as plaster and dust settled. There, perched between his gas fireplace and his leather couch, was a pick-up truck covered in debris. He had little time to react to the dazed driver sitting behind the wheel as the putrid smell of gas reached his nose. Ian watched in horror as he saw the burning cigarette fall from the driver’s lips. Without even thinking, Ian sprinted for the front door.

Just a moment later, Ian was picking himself up off his front lawn, glass embedded in his back. He turned around to see his house engulfed in flames. The heat forced him back towards the sidewalk and he could feel the tears stinging his eyes. He turned to get help when he was knocked over by someone. The stranger looked down at him and Ian wondered if he was looking at his reflection. The man had the same brown hair, hazel eyes, and medium build as him. He was even wearing the same white t-shirt and faded jeans.

The stranger dropped the backpack he was carrying, threw a nervous glance over his shoulder, and then disappeared down the back alley. Picking himself up off the ground, Ian noticed the abandoned bag.

“Hey!” He called after the man, but he was gone.

“Freeze!” A gruff voice called out.

Ian glanced up and found the barrel of a gun pointed right at his chest. Instinctively, Ian raised his hands above his head.

“Put your hands behind your head. And don’t even think about running!” The officer commanded, reaching for his handcuffs.

“Sir, I think there has been a mistake!” Ian finally found his voice.

“Yeah, you made a big mistake trying to run!” The cop announced, clasping the handcuffs on his wrists. “You start this fire too?”

“No sir, that’s my house, someone crashed into it with their truck. A gas line must have been broke.” Ian explained, as the cop began to pat him down. “Please, I am innocent.”

“Sure, and I’m the Tooth Fairy!” The officer’s barking voice and buzz cut reminded Ian of a military drill instructor.

“Please,” Ian glanced at the man’s badge, “Officer Buford.”

“Sergeant Buford!”

“Sergeant Buford, the man you’re looking for took off down that alley. I am just an innocent bystander.”

“Right.” Buford crossed over to the backpack and unzipped the main compartment. Ian watched in horror as the cop pulled out three quart-sized Ziploc bags full of marijuana.

“That’s not mine! I’ve never done drugs in my whole life! I mean a drank a little bit in college, but I am a model citizen. I am the vice president of Pilot Industries. I volunteer at the local homeless shelter. I help my next-door neighbor take out her trash. Please, this is just some bizarre misunderstanding.” Ian tried to plea his case, but Sergeant Buford wouldn’t listen. He helped him into the backseat of his patrol car and grabbed his radio.

“Dispatch, I have the suspect in custody. 11-71 in progress. 10-20 is 113th and Oakland Street.” The radio clicked off and the Sergeant slid into the driver’s seat. “Resisting arrest, possession of drugs with intent to distribute, and arson. My, my, you certainly have racked up a lot of charges.”

Ian pressed his face up against the metal mesh barrier as the cop maneuvered the patrol car out of the neighborhood. “Please, this is a big mistake. I was just sitting in my house when this car crashes into my house! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

“Pipe down buddy.” His radio came alive as they entered the intersection.

“10-4, fire truck in route. ETA ten minutes.” A woman’s voice stated.

A flash of red out of the corner of Ian’s eye caught his attention. He turned his head just in time to see a red minivan barreling through the intersection right at the car. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the impact as he heard brakes screaming. Ian heard metal crunching as a searing pain rocketed up his leg. The car spun a hundred and eighty degrees before coming to a stop within inches of the grill of an eighteen wheeler.

Ian glanced down at his leg and felt lightheaded at the sight of his stark white bone sticking out of his knee. Bile rose in his throat as he saw Sergeant Buford’s bleeding head smashed against the window. There was so much blood. Ian could hear the sirens of an ambulance in the distance as he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. There was so much blood.

Ian’s eyes fluttered open as he was lifted into the ambulance.

“Sir! Sir! What is your name?” One of the EMT’s shouted.

“Ian, Ian Fortuin.” He said, his body screaming out in pain. He felt a warm, tingly feeling slipping through his body and he closed his eyes. He was tired.

“Ian! Ian! Stay with me!” The EMT shouted, grasping his hand.

Ian felt himself being carted into the emergency room. As antiseptic and florescent lighting flooded his senses, Ian struggled to stay awake. The EMT was telling the doctor what happened as someone took his vitals.

“Doctor?” Ian’s voice came out as a gravely whisper.

“Holy Sassaphras! Look at his leg!” The doctor shouted, startling Ian. “It’s like I’m back in Vietnam!”

“Doctor, what should we do about his leg? There is serious nerve damage!” A pretty redhead stated, as they pushed his gurney into an operating room.

“Do you hear that! Gloria! Gloria, get down. Those damn Japs are dropping bombs!” The doctor and redhead disappeared out of Ian’s vision.

Panic seized Ian’s chest and he tried to sit up, but something restrained him.

“Doctor! Doctor! The patient, what are we to do?” Another nurse asked.

The doctor’s white head popped up from under the gurney. “Gangrene has already set in. We’ll need to amputate! Gloria! Gloria, prepare for surgery!”

Ian tried to cry out in protest but his mouth felt glued shut. This time when he tried to sit up he wasn’t restrained. He wasn’t in the operating room. The crazy, old doctor and pretty nurse were gone. Ian let out a sigh of relief. It had just been a terrible nightmare. He pulled back the covers and stared in shock at the bandaged nub of his leg.