Collision Course
The Lights and Buzz
The warm winter air was like heaven against her skin. Justine Clements was sitting in her rental car, the roof down. Her hair whipped around her face in the soft breeze as she drove through the familiar neighbourhood she hadn’t seen for over a year now. She smiled to herself at the thought of what was coming, the thought of being home, seeing her family, her friends. Those she treasured and held so dearly. She was looking forward to being taken care of, and not having anything left to worry about. The breeze picked up as she drove a little faster, excitement bubbling up inside her.
Rewind a good, long, hard month ago, and you wouldn’t believe the girl seated in the driver’s seat of the expensive looking, shiny silver car was the same person.
Justine had been one of the more unfortunate people who had been a part of the terrorist attacks in New York a year ago to the date. Although the familiar sights and sounds had calmed her and settled a lot of her worries, the memories of that horrific and tragic day were imprinted on her memory and it was likely that they always would be.
The attacks on the subway were the most frightening thing she had ever lived through. The cracking sound of the bomb going off, the sound still rung inside her ears, closely followed by the screams of agony and shock from the innocent passengers, some of who had been badly injured. The terrifying, horror-movie like images played inside her mind, bodies covered in blood, limbs lost within the wreckage, the dead blown to pieces. The stench of death still tingled her nostrils, the memory of the toxic fumes still suffocated her. She clearly remembered the struggle, the desperate fight to be set free from the disaster that had struck.
The memories haunted each sense, plaguing her mind like a rare disease. It was a constant, an element that wouldn’t leave her.
All of it had thrown Justine off course completely. Before those fatal attacks, her life could be considered perfect. She was on her way to becoming a qualified doctor, something she had wanted to do since she was fifteen years old. She was one of the few lucky people in the world who could say they were living their dream. But then she boarded that unfortunate subway, and what was supposed to be a three-stop journey into town had ruined Justine’s life. Living the dream had become a living nightmare.
God only knows how many people died that afternoon. It wasn’t something she liked to think about. During the ongoing aftermath, Justine avoided the news. She didn’t read about it, see or hear it, she wasn’t up to facing an action replay of the horrors she had lived through first hand.
Avoidance was a difficult thing. News was everywhere, on television, being talked about between presenters on a radio show, read about in newspapers and magazines, splashed across every Internet page that existed. So, Justine went to the extremes and pretty much locked herself in her tiny apartment. She only left to buy what she desperately needed, but she never stopped to talk to anyone, and walked around in a protective daze. If she appeared distracted, no one would attempt to strike up conversation with her. At home, she never listened to the radio, she simply used her stereo to play her CD’s and she only used the television to watch romantic and comedy DVD’s, she abandoned all the action and disaster films she owned, leaving them to collect dust on a shelf of their own.
The thought of facing up to it chilled her to the bone. She knew one day it would all catch up with her, she’d over hear someone mentioning the death toll of the attack, or talking about a person’s horrific injuries and how they were beyond repair. She felt nothing but guilt at the mere thought of the dead and the injured. She had been one of the lucky ones, escaping only with a few deep cuts, bruises and of course the inescapable mental scars that would follow her for the rest of her existence.
Because that’s all Justine had been doing for the past year, merely existing and not really living.
It was December twentieth when Justine finally snapped. She was tired of staring at the same walls. Tired of floating in between living and existing. She needed to get away. She needed familiar sights and sounds. So she packed her most valued and much needed possessions and booked herself a flight home.
It took every ounce of courage she could muster to step onto the plane. She forced herself to focus on the positives, lightening doesn’t strike twice, so no single person could be so unlucky that they endured two terrorist attacks in their lifetime. So, to be sure she wouldn’t end up having a panic attack at a few thousand feet, she swallowed two sleeping pills and slept deeply through the flight. The next thing she knew, she was being shaken away by a cheery flight attendant.
Justine skipped through the airport. She was happy to have woken up. The thought of being on home soil was putting her in the best mood she had been in for the past year. She collected her luggage and paid for a rental car, then set off for home.
Everything felt the same. The sun shone the same way, the clouds hung in the same position, the sky still the same blue it had been the day she left. Buildings lined the pavements, each of them still huge, the windows sparkling in the bright sunlight. Driving through her old neighbourhood she looked around at each house, everything was still the same, each window held the same curtains behind it, each door was still painted the same colour. But, even though everything looked the same, something was different. Justine wasn’t sure what it was.
She pulled up outside a familiar house and pulled the keys out of the ignition. She let a deep, content sigh escape her lips as she looked up at the house. She got out of the car and walked up to the front door, knocking softly on the wood.
The door opened and there stood the only person she had longed to see for the past year. He was the one who was going to erase the bad memories and replace them with shiny, new, good ones.
A grin slid onto his face, “Hey, Justine.”
Tears stung her eyes, but for the first time for a while, they were tears of happiness, of relief. Justine smiled softly at John. “Hey.”
He stepped out of the house and pulled her into a tight, protective hug. She held onto him for dear life, everything from the past year melted to the ground, her guilt washing away.
It’s good to be alive.
Rewind a good, long, hard month ago, and you wouldn’t believe the girl seated in the driver’s seat of the expensive looking, shiny silver car was the same person.
Justine had been one of the more unfortunate people who had been a part of the terrorist attacks in New York a year ago to the date. Although the familiar sights and sounds had calmed her and settled a lot of her worries, the memories of that horrific and tragic day were imprinted on her memory and it was likely that they always would be.
The attacks on the subway were the most frightening thing she had ever lived through. The cracking sound of the bomb going off, the sound still rung inside her ears, closely followed by the screams of agony and shock from the innocent passengers, some of who had been badly injured. The terrifying, horror-movie like images played inside her mind, bodies covered in blood, limbs lost within the wreckage, the dead blown to pieces. The stench of death still tingled her nostrils, the memory of the toxic fumes still suffocated her. She clearly remembered the struggle, the desperate fight to be set free from the disaster that had struck.
The memories haunted each sense, plaguing her mind like a rare disease. It was a constant, an element that wouldn’t leave her.
All of it had thrown Justine off course completely. Before those fatal attacks, her life could be considered perfect. She was on her way to becoming a qualified doctor, something she had wanted to do since she was fifteen years old. She was one of the few lucky people in the world who could say they were living their dream. But then she boarded that unfortunate subway, and what was supposed to be a three-stop journey into town had ruined Justine’s life. Living the dream had become a living nightmare.
God only knows how many people died that afternoon. It wasn’t something she liked to think about. During the ongoing aftermath, Justine avoided the news. She didn’t read about it, see or hear it, she wasn’t up to facing an action replay of the horrors she had lived through first hand.
Avoidance was a difficult thing. News was everywhere, on television, being talked about between presenters on a radio show, read about in newspapers and magazines, splashed across every Internet page that existed. So, Justine went to the extremes and pretty much locked herself in her tiny apartment. She only left to buy what she desperately needed, but she never stopped to talk to anyone, and walked around in a protective daze. If she appeared distracted, no one would attempt to strike up conversation with her. At home, she never listened to the radio, she simply used her stereo to play her CD’s and she only used the television to watch romantic and comedy DVD’s, she abandoned all the action and disaster films she owned, leaving them to collect dust on a shelf of their own.
The thought of facing up to it chilled her to the bone. She knew one day it would all catch up with her, she’d over hear someone mentioning the death toll of the attack, or talking about a person’s horrific injuries and how they were beyond repair. She felt nothing but guilt at the mere thought of the dead and the injured. She had been one of the lucky ones, escaping only with a few deep cuts, bruises and of course the inescapable mental scars that would follow her for the rest of her existence.
Because that’s all Justine had been doing for the past year, merely existing and not really living.
It was December twentieth when Justine finally snapped. She was tired of staring at the same walls. Tired of floating in between living and existing. She needed to get away. She needed familiar sights and sounds. So she packed her most valued and much needed possessions and booked herself a flight home.
It took every ounce of courage she could muster to step onto the plane. She forced herself to focus on the positives, lightening doesn’t strike twice, so no single person could be so unlucky that they endured two terrorist attacks in their lifetime. So, to be sure she wouldn’t end up having a panic attack at a few thousand feet, she swallowed two sleeping pills and slept deeply through the flight. The next thing she knew, she was being shaken away by a cheery flight attendant.
Justine skipped through the airport. She was happy to have woken up. The thought of being on home soil was putting her in the best mood she had been in for the past year. She collected her luggage and paid for a rental car, then set off for home.
Everything felt the same. The sun shone the same way, the clouds hung in the same position, the sky still the same blue it had been the day she left. Buildings lined the pavements, each of them still huge, the windows sparkling in the bright sunlight. Driving through her old neighbourhood she looked around at each house, everything was still the same, each window held the same curtains behind it, each door was still painted the same colour. But, even though everything looked the same, something was different. Justine wasn’t sure what it was.
She pulled up outside a familiar house and pulled the keys out of the ignition. She let a deep, content sigh escape her lips as she looked up at the house. She got out of the car and walked up to the front door, knocking softly on the wood.
The door opened and there stood the only person she had longed to see for the past year. He was the one who was going to erase the bad memories and replace them with shiny, new, good ones.
A grin slid onto his face, “Hey, Justine.”
Tears stung her eyes, but for the first time for a while, they were tears of happiness, of relief. Justine smiled softly at John. “Hey.”
He stepped out of the house and pulled her into a tight, protective hug. She held onto him for dear life, everything from the past year melted to the ground, her guilt washing away.
It’s good to be alive.