The feeling of something warm. Wet. And it’s running down my leg.
I look down, red blooming from the pole protruding from my abdomen. The screams that should be shattering the silence are stuck in my throat. Trapped, in my metal coffin, staring at the truck that had braked—hard—in front of me, now flipped. Like me. Scaffolding littered across the road.
Blue flashes. The wail of a siren.
Help me!
The wheels of the EMT robot enter my narrowing vision.
Please help.
“Organ donor detected. Thank you for your sacrifice.”
My screams are still stuck in my throat.
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alt="Stone Jaws by Evan Baughfman"
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>
sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="The Mannequin People by Michael J. Stiehl"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Gator by Randall Andrews"
class="motion-reduce"
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sizes="(min-width: 1200px) 550px, (min-width: 750px) calc((100vw - 130px) / 2), calc((100vw - 50px) / 2)"
alt="Rude Awakening by Richard Lau"
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>