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As Pete sat behind the wheel, the heater in his car struggled to combat the biting chill that seeped through the cracks. The wipers tirelessly swiped at the snowflakes that cascaded down, obscuring his view. The narrow road snaked through a picturesque rural landscape, where snow-dusted fields stretched as far back as the eye could see.
In the quiet solitude of the countryside, the only sound that accompanied him was the soft purr of the engine and the muffled crunch of snow under the tires. He gripped the steering wheel with pale hands, trying to maintain control of the vehicle on the icy surface. The world outside appeared tranquil, the landscape painted in shades of white and gray.
The exhaustion of writing, recording, and touring wraps around him like a heavy cloak, weighing heavily on his weary shoulders, dragging his energy to its lowest ebb. His thoughts became sluggish, struggling to navigate through the winding roads coated in frost. He strived to resist the gentle allure of slumber, to focus on navigating his vehicle through ice encrusted pavement, but fatigue tugged at his eyelids, urging them to forfeit. He fought to keep his senses alert, clinging to wakefulness like a fragile thread.
In that moment, as Pete’s defenses crumble, he slips into the sweet surrender of dreams. He drifts away, letting his eyes flutter shut and his head slowly edge forward as his body becomes lax, finally succumbing to the gentle embrace of sleep.
Suddenly, the tranquility shattered. A flash of movement caught Pete’s attention, jerking his eyes open and reeling him out of slumber like a fishing line. He had veered into the opposite lane, his car careening out of control on the treacherous road. An oncoming car’s horns screamed at him, emergency headlights attacking his eyes. Time seemed to slow down as he instinctively slammed on the brakes, desperately hoping to avoid the impending collision.
The tires lost their grip on the slippery surface, causing his car to skid sideways. Pete’s heart raced as the vehicle slid across the snow-covered road, its trajectory out of his control. He braced himself, knuckles turning white from the intensity of his grip, as the other car hurtled towards him.
With a bone-jarring impact, the vehicles collided. The crunch of metal echoed through the wintry landscape, mingling with the cacophony of shattering glass. Pete’s head flew forward but was halted very suddenly by the stiff seat belt sinking deep into his torso. Pete swore he heard cracking in his chest, but was too lost in the sauce to feel anything beside his heart sinking to his pelvic floor. The airbags exploded into existence, enveloping Pete in a cushioned cocoon as the violent forces jostled him around.
His car careened through the street, its metal frame crunching and compacting with each harsh bounce, akin to a tin can being mercilessly crushed. Finally, the vehicle came to a jolting halt, resting precariously on its side. An eerie groan resonated from its battered form as the engine shut down, the hiss of escaping air blending with the silence that now engulfed the scene. The flickering lights surrendered to darkness, and the heater sputtered its final breath, allowing an unwelcome chill to creep into the crumbled heap of twisted metal.
Pete strained to listen amidst the chaos, the sound of footsteps crunching in the snow reaching his ears. It must have been the person he collided with. Disoriented and trapped beneath the wreckage, he summoned all his strength and managed to cry out, his voice wheezing slightly, "Hey! I'm stuck under here!"
A janky car door creaked open and then reluctantly closed, followed by the hesitant growl of an engine. Hope flickered within Pete as he pleaded, "Wait, please!" However, his words fell on indifferent ears as the wheels of the other vehicle churned through the snow, growing fainter and fainter, until all that remained was the haunting howl of the wind. Undeterred, he continued to yell and implore for someone, anyone, to come to his rescue from his desperate, helpless state, until his voice grew sore and scratchy, his throat raw and ravaged.
Anxiety began to seep into Pete’s mind as a sudden surge of intense fear welled up inside him. His body felt as though it was being hijacked by an overwhelming sense of dread and doom. His breathing came out choked and desperate as he struggled to take in enough air, his heart racing uncontrollably, pounding out of his chest as if it’s about to burst. Was he having a heart attack?
He didn’t know, he felt lightheaded and dizzy, the world around him spinning. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen, as if he was suffocating. His composure shattered, and he crumbled into a torrent of anguished sobs, body convulsing with each gasping breath. Tears streamed down his face in an unrelenting cascade, his cries echoing the depths of his despair. His shoulders heaved with the intensity of his sobs, as if each wail carried the weight of a thousand sorrows. His whole being is consumed by the anguish that pours forth, his voice a raw, broken symphony of pain. The quiet rural road had become a battleground of twisted fate. As the echoes of the collision subsided, the silence felt oppressive, broken only by Pete’s muffled sobs and the distant howling wind.
As the surge of emotions settled, an intense throbbing spread through his body, starting faintly but quickly escalating into an overwhelming ache that forced him to grit his teeth and release agonized groans into the air. Surveying the aftermath of the collision, he observed deep gashes etched across his body from shattered glass, accompanied by sizable bruises and searing pain in his ribs. His attention was drawn to a jagged shard of glass deeply embedded in his thigh, and in the buzz of panic that had dulled his usual rationality, he foolishly attempted to remove it. As he moved his arm, a cry of pain escaped his lips, and he recoiled in horror when he cast an accusatory glare at his limb—his forearm twisted unnaturally, and his elbow bore a sickening hue of purple. Outside, the snow danced in a chaotic swirl around the wreckage.
Amidst the excruciating pain, Pete's awareness shifted to the cold that began to embrace him. Initially, it provided a numbing relief to his lacerations, bruises, and bumps, but it soon became unbearable. The chill seeped into his very bones, enveloping his body in a gradual sensation of numbness. A slight shiver coursed through him as an involuntary response to his plummeting body temperature, attempting to generate warmth, but it rapidly evolved into uncontrollable shaking, as his muscles tensed and relaxed in quick succession.
With each passing moment, the cold extended its reach, tingling in his extremities, causing his fingers and toes to grow increasingly rigid. He clasped his hands together in a desperate attempt to generate warmth, yet the once-fluid motion now required conscious effort, as if his body resisted his commands to move. His skin grew pallid, his lips taking on a bluish hue. Breaths turned shallow, and a growing sense of weariness and drowsiness settled upon him. The thought of closing his eyes, even for a moment, whispered a tempting promise of respite, but he knew deep down that succumbing to sleep could have dire consequences…
As Pete regained consciousness, his senses were greeted by a disorienting chorus of ringing in his ears and distant, muffled voices. He struggled to pry his heavy eyelids open, but his strength faltered, leaving his eyes as immovable as if they were burdened by a thousand pounds. His head lolled to the side, and he drew in a slow, sluggish breath, his words emerging in unintelligible murmurs. Every fiber of his being ached, and his thoughts struggled to form coherently amidst the haze. The voices momentarily fell silent, and then a comforting touch graced his face and tenderly stroked his hair. He relaxed under the touch, allowing himself to surrender once more to the clutches of sleep.
Emerging from the depths of anesthesia-induced slumber once more, Pete gradually stirred, his consciousness pulling him away from the realms of reverie. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing the sterile surroundings of a hospital room, accompanied by the faint hum of medical equipment. A lingering grogginess weighed upon him, enveloping his body in a heavy shroud. Each breath he took seemed like a monumental effort, each inhalation tinged with the sharp sting of pain that served as a constant reminder of the harrowing car crash. Even a simple shiver sent waves of discomfort radiating through him, intensifying the ache that already permeated his being.
He tried to move, but his limbs felt uncooperative, as if disconnected from his commands. A dull ache reverberates throughout his body, a constant reminder of the trauma it has endured. The room comes into focus, and the sterile environment feels both comforting and alienating at the same time.
Whispers of discomfort echo through his senses. Thirst clings to the back of his throat, dry and unyielding. The taste of bitterness lingers on his tongue, a remnant of the medications and anesthesia that have coursed through his veins. He longs for relief, for a respite from the discomfort that clings to him like a relentless shadow.
A burdensome presence bore down on the bed, leaving distinct indentations in the fabric that resembled deep canyons carved into the bed itself. Pete's gaze lifted, and his eyes fell upon a figure leaning with their head resting on folded arms at the foot of the bed—it was Keith. Beside him, with a mop of dyed black hair gently resting on Keith's shoulder, sat John. A surge of indescribable emotions surged through Pete's being, as a potent mix of relief and joy intertwined within him. Despite occasionally finding them annoying, the sight of his friends by his side overwhelmed Pete with an all-encompassing happiness.
His gaze wandered around the room, and he caught a fleeting glimpse of a tousled heap of curly blond hair—Roger. Acting instinctively, without a second thought, Pete attempted to sit up in order to rouse the slumbering singer. A sharp cry escaped his lips as pain surged through his chest, causing his body to writhe in distress as he gasped for breath. In that moment, that same, familiar touch landed gently on his shoulder. Roger’s voice came as a hushed reassurance, urging Pete to settle back down. With a gentle nudge, he guided Pete’s convulsing body back onto the bed. Pete cliched his eyes shut tightly, as if trying to shut out the waves of agony, while inhaling and exhaling sharply for a few minutes until the pain gradually subsided.
"What the fuck?" Pete exhaled, his exasperation evident after a few moments.
"You broke your ribs, Pete. They need time to heal," Roger responded, matter-of-factly.
"I'm fucking dying.”
"No, you were dying a few days ago," Roger calmly stated. "Right now, you're in the process of recovery."
Pete felt the comforting touch of Roger's fingers gently running through his hair. Normally, he would have swatted away any physical contact, repulsed by such closeness. However, in this moment, he simply couldn't muster the energy to care. Reluctantly, he found himself leaning into the touch, involuntarily allowing his eyes to flutter shut. A sigh of discontentment escaped him, mixed with a tinge of apathy, as he whispered, resentfully, under his breath, "I love you."