Nothing But Stars (standard:Inspirational stories, 4134 words)
Author: Mick@Nite	Added: Apr 27 2003	Views/Reads: 3748/2382	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A man awakens on the side of a frozen highway. Together, reader and protagonist learn the truth about what happened that terrible night.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

terrifying. 

On the highway above him, passed the broken guardrail and beyond his
view, emergency personnel had begun arriving upon the most horrific 
display of carnage any one of them ever had the misfortune of bearing 
witness to: nineteen passenger vehicles, six tractor trailers and one 
petroleum truck, sprawled across a frozen highway in a chaotic mess of 
metal, rubber, glass and flame.  Amid the wreckage lay fifty-three 
souls: some still living, most already dead. 

In the mayhem, not one responder had thought to investigate the
shattered guardrail or what lay in the embankment beneath.  Down there, 
a man had begun calling franticly for help from what he now mercifully 
realized was not a grave at all but simply a shallow trench. 

“Help me! Please!” he cried from his lonely ditch.  “Can anybody hear
me?”  But they could not.  How could they; he could barely hear 
himself. 

For the first time since trying to reach for the star, he attempted to
move, his body feeling as if it were frozen to the frigid earth.  
Cautiously, he peeled his body from the icy ground, a snake shedding 
its dead skin, and pushed himself upward.  Crawling from the snowy 
ditch felt clumsy and odd, like a baby taking its first lumbering steps 
but to his amazement, he felt no pain (he in fact felt nothing at all). 
Assessing his body he appeared, to himself at least, to be uninjured. 

So, this is what shock feels like, he thought, actually welcoming the
numbness, all the while fearing at any moment his faculties would 
return, racking his body and mind with the intolerable pain presently 
being overridden by the graciousness of fight or flight. 

He glanced up the embankment and through that gaping hole in the
guardrail, spilling over with harsh lights and unsettling noise.  
Instinct told him that, despite his better judgment, that was the 
direction to travel if he was to free himself of this precarious 
situation -- whatever this precarious situation actually was.  With 
bones of rubber and joints overflowing with glue he began an ungainly 
yet careful ascension of the steep and rocky gradient, working steadily 
(and in slow motion) towards the guardrails gnarly wound.   Something 
big sure broke through that all right, he thought.  Something big 
indeed.  Something like a... 

...a car. 

Where is my car?  He suddenly considered that he might have been driving
before all this happened.  Where was I going?  That did not seem 
important but he was almost sure that he had been driving.  And 
singing.  Yes, he had been singing as well; out loud to the radio, he 
was definitely sure of that.  Singing real loud, the way you do when 
you're all alone in the car and no one is around to make fun except 
maybe that guy in the car next to you but who cares what he thinks.  No 
one is around to make fun of you except that guy and... 

...and who? 

Was I alone? 

He paused.  Something was missing.  Someone was missing. 

For the first time since this absurd situation had begun he turned to
look in the one direction he hadn't: behind him.  Turning around would 
be like looking into the past.  And why was the past (especially the 
recent past) something he feared deeply? 

He closed his eyes while making the 180-degree turn and opened them
warily only when facing squarely down the embankment.  Resting at the 
bottom like some dead solider was the traumatized remains of a 
four-door sedan -- his four-door sedan.  Barely recognizable, it lay on 
its side: lifeless, passenger side up, propped against a splintered 
tree.  The windows were little more than a tangled spider web of busted 
glass; every visible inch of metal was either dented, punctured or 
ripped clean from the automobiles broken bones. 

He held a tremulous hand over a tremulous mouth, agape with shock,
marveling by what grace of God had he been spared from such a 
catastrophe.  Surely no one could have walked away from such a 
disaster; but here he was, living proof.  Once more he inspected his 
body.  Inexplicably he seemed completely uninjured.  His hand returned 
to his mouth as the sight of the corpse that was once his car flooded 
his mind with cruel and painful memory. 

He had been driving and it was cold.  It had rained lightly most of the
day but the setting sun had cooled things down considerably, glazing 
the roadways with a frosty varnish.  The steady drizzle had turned to 
pale flurries that blew lazily from his windshield, his wipers no 
longer necessary to keep his line of vision clear.  He drove 
cautiously; the radio had warned of black ice. 

He was driving because he had to drop something off.  Normally he would
never think of driving the thruway on a Friday evening (it is Friday, 
isn't it?), but he was heading southbound which was nothing compared to 
the rush hour miseries of the northbound lanes.  If he had been driving 
south than that could only mean one thing: he was going to his 
mother's.  What other reason is there for diving southbound on a 
Friday, he thought.  Once again the traffic report warned of ice.  He 
switched off the news and tuned to some music.  He began to sing. 

It was then that he saw the first fireball.  Ablaze with fury, it
illuminated the twilight sky in a massive orange sphere.  The car was 
swamped with brilliant color and he was nearly blinded by the dazzling 
glow.  A second fireball followed before the first was even 
extinguished, this one smaller although just as intense and enraged. 

He instinctively slammed the brake pedal but his tires refused to grip
the icy road.  In the dying glow of the second explosion -- just as his 
brain was beginning to comprehend what was actually happening -- he 
witnessed before him a violent chain reaction of cars and trucks 
smashing into one another like some fair ground amusement gone 
disastrously awry. 

With the final flicker of the second fireball all went black.  Blinded,
his scorched eyes unable to readjust quick enough, he felt his vehicle 
persisting forward regardless of how fiercely he pumped the failing 
brakes.   Seeing no other options, he turned the steering wheel hard to 
the right, choosing to take his chances towards the shoulder rather 
than follow the terrifying path his car, still full of vicious 
momentum, was currently taking.  His vision began to clear and the last 
thing he recalled seeing before all would grow dark once again was the 
metal guardrail growing nearer in his headlights and then quiet 
blackness as his car smashed through at 60 miles per hour and was 
tossed airborne. 

He heard nothing except the cheerful song still playing on the radio. 
It suddenly occurred to him, in an amusing sort of way, that he had 
never stopped singing.  His car was in mid air, moments from slamming 
headfirst and rolling violently down a snowy embankment; in the brutal 
descent to follow the drivers side door would be ripped clean off its 
hinges, his unbelted body thrown from the tumbling wreck only to land 
in a shallow ditch and through it all, he continued to sing. 

He always sang when he drove.  He had such a terrible voice but the car
was his private amphitheatre, a place where he could belt out his 
favorites without fear of mockery or ridicule.  He shared this secret 
with no one, no one except... 

Oh God, this was going to be bad.  So very bad, but he had to remember. 

Who was the only person in the world he was brave enough to sing in
front of?  Who had been his private audience that evening?  Who loved 
him so much as to never judge and whom did he love back just as much to 
be set free from all his fears? 

Jenny, he remembered in a moment of sudden horror.  The realization was
as disturbing as it was painful.  Where is Jenny? 

The man who could not even remember his own name rushed to what was left
of his car in a frenzied descent and began searching frantically for 
the little girl whose name he could never forget, the little girl he 
had named himself: his daughter.  He moved with great haste but the 
sensation that he existed in a world of slow motion persisted.  He 
fumbled ineptly through the wreckage feeling weak and ineffective, 
unable to move even the smallest piece of his cars scattered remains.  
Within the debris the only thing he found were more agonizing pieces of 
his tattered memory. 

His wife had reminded him to be careful as they left and he assured her
he would.  The ground was already slick under their feet as he and 
Jenny walked vigilantly down their freezing driveway.  Jenny was 
anxious to get to her Grandmas; it was Friday evening and she was 
spending the weekend there because he and his wife were leaving early 
Saturday morning for an out of town wedding. 

“Sing a song Daddy,” the excited five year old pleaded over the traffic
report as they headed southbound towards his mothers, twelve miles down 
the thruway.  “Please...” 

How could he refuse her?  She was his only child, the light of his life,
the one person with whom he truly understood the concept of love.  He 
tuned to a music station and began singing aloud to the first song he 
came to: Neil Diamond's “Cracklin' Rose.” 

Jenny giggled and clucked from her child seat, old enough to sit in a
booster like a “big girl” but small enough to still use the larger more 
protective seat; for safety sake.  He performed joyfully for his 
admiring audience of one while watchfully maintaining his attention on 
the freezing highway. 

The fuel truck passed him on the left less than a minute before it all
started and he noted, between verses of “Cracklin' Rose,” just how 
inappropriately fast it had been traveling for such icy conditions. 

“Jenny!” he screamed, finally finding the small girl secured in her
safety harness, still strapped into the back seat of his ruined car.  
She did not respond.  Through the broken glass it was impossible to 
tell if she was even breathing.  He pulled at the handle but the door 
would not budge.  He pounded his fists on the shattered glass; it 
barely buckled.  His body felt so incredibly weak. 

“Honey, its daddy!” he shouted through tears and sobs.  “Open your eyes
Jenny...please!”  But she did not. 

He turned towards the embankment and up to the break in the guardrail. 
Lights of every sort now beamed and flashed from behind the gap: 
emergency strobes, floodlights, the amber shimmer of open flame.  
“Somebody,” he shouted with all the strength he could.  “Please help 
me!” 

Nothing. 

He turned back to the vehicle.  Like the crazed man he was he clawed at
the door madly, beat the glass with all he had and kicked at the 
demolished quarter panel all to no avail.  He cursed and screamed and 
wailed and when he could finally give no more he collapsed to the 
ground.  With one final and breathless plea he cried, “Oh God, 
somebody! Please help me!” 

Then all went silent. 

She appeared at the top of the embankment as if from nowhere at all: a
woman, young and fair, dressed all in lavender.  Though her face should 
have been shrouded by shadow he could see her clearly as if illuminated 
by a light of her own making.  She navigated the rocky slope with ease 
and grace and was standing before him as quickly as she had appeared. 

Her long hair, adorned with babies' breath and lace, was a dramatic
shade of golden honey.  It blew behind her in a breeze that could not 
be felt and shimmered from a light that could not be seen.  Her amber 
eyes were comforting and serene; they sparkled with white flame: 
brilliant, like...a star.  Her complexion was fine porcelain, delicate 
features united in simplistic beauty.  Her gentle face was timeless, 
like those immortalized by the greatest of the renaissance artists. 

“Will you help me?” he appealed in a whispered plea that only she could
hear. 

She closed her eyes and nodded gracefully.  Her entire being radiated
benevolence and poise.  Placing her hands on the cars battered rear 
door the woman with hair of gold lifted the handle; it gave way and 
released with total ease.  He watched in amazement as she labored 
effortlessly doing what he had found to be impossible.   She went about 
her work with a peaceful equanimity as she reached into the vehicle and 
gently removed the child.  Her frail body was flaccid as the woman in 
lavender carried her from the wreckage in an affectionate embrace and 
placed her in a small grassy area untouched by snow. 

“Oh my God,” he howled at the sight of his daughter's fragile body. 
“She's not breathing.” 

The woman did not seem to hear him and maintained her full attention on
the child.  Though terribly frightened he was able to find some calm in 
the woman's tender composure.  With loving hands the woman in lavender 
brushed curly locks of brunette hair from his little one's cherub face 
and for the first time he could see how pale his only child actually 
was.  “Oh my God...” he repeated. 

Working quickly, the woman whom seemed to appear out of thin air leaned
over and softly pressed her rose petal lips against the child's.  With 
one single kiss he watched in bewilderment as the color of life, a 
wonderful fleshy pink returned to his little girls body.  Jenny coughed 
weakly but her eyes remained closed.  The man fell to his knees wanting 
to take his young daughter into his trembling arms and feel her soft 
body in his paternal embrace but the woman turned and stopped him. 

“What are you doing?” he protested as the woman in lavender, without
effort, lifted him to his feet and turned him towards the embankment.  
Her eyes remained calm and reassuring.  In her touch he could feel a 
familiar warmth.  She turned her attention to the embankment and beyond 
the guardrail.  For the first time she spoke, directing her words along 
the path of her gaze. 

“Help her.” 

Her voice was placid yet effective.  He did more than hear her words; he
saw them, felt them.  What began simply as a whisper amplified.  He 
both listened and watched as her voice climbed the embankment as a 
tangible object and disappeared beyond the guardrail. 

Together they waited in watchful silence. 

At first it was one, then finally, two: silhouettes of men in uniform,
appearing within the break in the guardrail, carving the night with 
powerful flashlights, their beams scanning the area in a ballet of 
light before finally focusing in on the small girl, alone in the grassy 
clearing.  They called for a third and began scaling the embankment to 
rescue the little victim.  Their descent was treacherous.  Loose stone 
and soil gave way in bulky chunks hampering their efforts to safely 
navigate the decline. 

Unseen by the rescuers, a woman in lavender with babies' breath woven
into her golden hair guided their way with a silent prayer.  All three 
reached the bottom unharmed.  Upon reaching the girl, they began 
tending to her immediately. 

Once more the man sought to move closer to his daughter but again the
woman in lavender restrained him with a gentle yet unyielding grasp.  
“Let them help her.”  Her words were soothing and when she took his arm 
in hers he complied, feeling her console flow into him through their 
joined bodies. 

The child coughed once more, a bit stronger this time, as the emergency
workers tended to her.  One rescuer barked requests for further 
assistance into a two-way radio, the other two listened with 
stethoscopes and examined with penlights. 

“Daddy!” the little girl suddenly cried in a distressed and unsteady
voice.  “Where's my daddy?” 

“Oh, Jenny,” reaching out to her, “daddy's right...” But the woman in
lavender only tightened her grip. 

“Let them help her,” she restated gently.  Again, he complied. 

One of the emergency workers ran to the car and began examining the
interior with his flashlight.  “There's no one in the vehicle, Sarge!” 
he shouted from the twisted wreck. 

“Check the perimeter!” another hollered back.  “There had to be a
driver!” 

Unable to restrain himself any longer, the man attempted to yell out but
suddenly he could no longer speak.  His lips moved wildly without any 
words coming out.  His ears were inundated by a white noise and all 
other sounds evaporated around him.  All he wanted to do was hold Jenny 
but the world became a reverie of slow motion and smog as he struggled 
in vain to break free from the woman's ever-increasing embrace. 

He watched helplessly as the rescuer with the flashlight searched the
area, approaching the ditch in which he once lay.  His vision was very 
hazy now, raw and shadowy like old stock movie footage.  His hearing 
entirely dulled, he heard nothing as the rescuer, a medic, yelled to 
his partner before jumping into the shallow trench.  He felt himself 
being drawn to the dreamlike scenario, wanting to know what the medic 
had found, needing to see what he had left behind in the snowy ditch 
that was causing such a fuss.  The woman in lavender permitted this 
without protest. 

Together they approached the lonesome trench and watched unnoticed as
the medic worked hopelessly on a blue and broken body.  When his 
partner finally arrived the medic told him not to bother.  “This one is 
gone,” were his exact words. 

The medics rejoined the third rescuer, a firefighter, who was still
attending to the child.  Neither had noticed the man and women who had 
kept a solemn vigil over their efforts.  Beside the ditch, in order to 
mark the area, they had left a glowing flare. 

Through the fog and vapor that was now his vision, the man recognized
the cold lifeless eyes of the body lying in the base of the ditch.  
Cloudy and frozen, they reflected the glow of crimson flare while 
bearing no sparkle of their own. 

Losing concern for the matter in the trench, the man returned his
attention to the little girl, now wrapped in blankets, an oxygen mask 
snug to her tiny face.  From her pale lips he watched warm wonderful 
breath create misty bellows around the mask and into the frosty air.  
The sight of her breathing brought him great comfort. 

For one last time the man stood over his daughter, the only person in
the world he had ever truly loved.  With whatever voice he had left he 
spoke quiet and deliberately. 

“I love you, Jenny.” 

Though her lips barely moved he could hear her as clearly as he had ever
heard any words in his entire short life. 

“I love you too, Daddy.” 

Years from now, healthy and physically recovered from this tragic
evening, Jenny will remember this moment in a dream that will awaken 
her gently with a warm breeze and the sensation of soft lips against 
her own. 

The two medics carefully placed her in a caged harness while the
firefighter waited with a hooked cable that had been lowered down from 
high above the embankment.  While securing the final strap, one of the 
medics noticed a small piece of babies' breath entwined in the child's 
curly brown hair. 

Watching, the man felt a tear run down his check but when he lifted a
hand to his eyes, he found them dry.  The woman in lavender came from 
behind and resumed her embrace.  He knew without being told that it was 
time to go.  He blew his daughter one final kiss and turned to his new 
companion offering a poignant smile which she affectionately returned. 

Together they scaled the steep incline without exertion and he was not
at all surprised to find a small assemblage awaiting them upon reaching 
the top.  Joined by the others and with the embankment now far behind, 
they continued their effortless ascension, the world he once knew 
vanishing in their wake.  The indigo sky welcomed him and as the 
threshold was crossed all he could see, as far as his eyes could wander 
and wide as his mind would roam, were nothing but stars. 


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