West bound on I-285, coming home from work. The usual heavy traffic that is characteristic of Atlanta. I glance in my rearview to see the car behind me as we all crawl towards our various destinations. The hair on the back of my neck stands up, and I glance again. The car has become an emergency vehicle, lights blazing, and siren crying out. The EMSV Passes me on the left. Children's Hospital Critical Transport Unit.
Heavy traffic impeded its path. It will go nowhere fast.
I look back again and am blinded by the golden light coming in from the back of my head.
I see his face looking at me through my own eyes.
The light. The PAIN.
I am pushed froward in my seat as though something was wedged between my shoulders and the drivers seat. Wings.
My arms outstretch. Locked. Pain.
The traffic ahead of me parts like the Red Sea.
My right arm is numb.
The EMSV Makes for the opening, and goes.
Tears and pain.
My exit. Right.
I can see from below that traffic has once again closed up around the vehicle.
The lights go off. The siren is silenced.
The little blonde haired, blue eyed boy in the back didn't make it.
I tried. I can't shake this.
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