By Annetta Lucero
STOP!
I am wedged diagonally across the drivers seat of my car. My left wrist is squirting a small fountain of blood. My tongue is lacerated in several places, my knees are swollen and stuck between the steering wheel and dash and I cannot breathe.
Through my window I see a teenage girl get out of the car that just turned in front of me. She looks scared but fine. She walks to the other side of her car and is speaking to someone inside. I am still not breathing. She goes to speak with some people gathering on the side of the highway. After some time they glance at my car but nobody comes over. I wonder why they don’t come. It would be good if they could open my door for me. I am very hot and I am not breathing.
I think of my children. I want to breathe so they do not have to endure this loss. I think of my mom. I want to breathe so she doesn’t lose her daughter and grandson within a months time. I think of Noah . . . I want to breathe.
I realize I may not breathe. I smirk. I remember I have held my breath for 3 and half minutes just for fun. I’ve got another minute or so. I’ll figure it out.
The girl is now on her cell phone. She guiltily glances at my car as she speaks. Read the rest of this entry »














































