elise c. rook (fervents) wrote in islamuerta, @ 2016-07-21 20:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: casper skellington, character: elise rook, day: 07/17/16, thread: group, thread: open, thread: standard |
Characters: Elise and OPEN
Location: Crash site, 7M/Seat 40F
Time: Immediately post-crash
Summary: Elise seeks help from fellow passengers.
Status: Incomplete thread
Warnings: Language, blood, injuries, death mention.
In the few, fleeting seconds she had, Elise couldn't help but think that if this was it, it was shit. She wondered if her body would be found, broken and breathless. If her face would still be recognisable. Wondered if this was what it had been like for her mother, too. If she'd had these same thoughts in these same seconds. Wondered if a brief, bright burst of life was all she was ever entitled to: if her childish ways had made growing up properly simply impossible and if this was just the universe righting its wrongs. Wondered if her dad would cope.
And then: impact.
-
Elise's eyes flickered open, taking everything in with heavy, blurry blinks. Before her, a mess of uncertain shapes: knotted wreaths of metal, flecks of debris, something yellow blocking half her vision, the colour of it achingly bright against the monochrome of wreckage. An air mask. An air mask from the plane crash. From the plane crash she had been in. Her stomach twisted and she thought she might vomit, right there in her seat. Acid rose up in her throat, burning and hot, and she exhaled out through her nose, bracing herself, but all that came out was a thick, harsh sob. I'm alive, she realised, I'm alive, I'm alive, relief flooding through every inch of her body. She was in a plane crash and she was alive. There was a sour taste in her mouth, as if she had been sucking on a penny: the warm, copper tang of fresh blood. With some hesitation, she swirled her tongue around her mouth, checking her teeth, and thankfully found all intact. Small mercies. Her hand reached up to press against her mouth and came away crimson. A gouged lip, that was all, but something about the blood seemed to jolt her back to reality. Out. You need to get out, she thought. Her disorientation had granted her something close to calmness for a handful of long, drawn out seconds, but Elise quickly became aware of the thud of her heart, its fast, urgent beats thrumming against her ribs. Get. Out.
And so she tried to stand up. And then regretted it.
The entire middle of her body resisted, yanking her sharply back into her seat. She heard a cry of pain, strangled, loud in her ears, and realised half a moment later that it came from her own mouth. In what she could only chalk up to a delayed reaction, her body had forgotten to notify her of the injuries she had sustained in the crash, most notably the dark blooms of purple swirled across her stomach and her hips, and the seat belt that seemed to sit at twice the tightness she had meant it to. Her seat, presumably from the force of the crash, was tipped forwards, leaving her body angled towards the ground, compressed against the belt which was the only thing stopping her from slipping to the floor. It had saved her, most likely, from a severe head injury, but in doing so had trapped her, and she could feel the pain of it now: sharp and winding, bruising through layers of skin and muscle.
"Help," she breathed, her chest tight with alarm. Louder, she needed to be louder. And so she shouted.
"Please, anyone, please, please help!"