Essay --

Alex opened his eyes to the taste of dust and blood. His head was on the floor. He tried to lift it, but to no avail. A small groan escaped his lips, followed by a fit of coughing. What happened? The scene before him was something out of a Michael Bay movie. Grey concrete, rebar, settling dust, unconscious bodies. Unconscious, or maybe dead. What happened? He tried to move his leg, with the effectiveness of putting out a fire with gasoline. It was crushed by several tonnes of concrete and twisted metal. What happened? He finally found the strength to raise his head a fraction of an inch from the concrete. Caroline. He desparately searched the carnage around him until his eyes locked on a face. His wife. Dammit, what the hell happened? He tried to lift his head further, but only succeeded in inducing a coughing fit, forcing him to relinquish the small amount of progress he had made. Suddenly, a weak, sickly sounding voice pierced the unnatual stillness that had enveloped the space since he awoke. â€Å"Hey.† Her lips were powder white, and the voice was barely above a whisper, but she was alive. He managed a weak smile before moving his own lips. â€Å"Hey.† His eyes traced a line from her face, down her body, only to see a foot of rebar protruding from her ribcage. His smile wavered, but he forced himself to keep a smile plastered on his own powder-caked face. Later. Later I’ll tell her. â€Å"How are you doing love?† â€Å"A little sore.† She managed a weak trace of a smile, that quickly turned into a grimace. Her labored breathing caused the rebar to sway back and forth, like a macabre tree in an invisible breeze. The effort of talking obviously exhausted her. He once again started examining the surrounding wreckage, giving her a little ti... ...bye to the love of his life. He gripped the steering wheel, and put the car in reverse, swinging out of the parking spot, and onto the open road, Caroline’s last words echoing in his head. â€Å"’Til Death do us part.† The words echoed all the way home, and followed him into the house. His every thought was occupied by her. The more he thought, the more he realized it felt like she was actually there. He closed his eyes, and opened them, disappointed to find that it wasn’t actually true. Despite this, he smiled and laid back, his head propped up, the way he used to do when she laid on top of him, often falling asleep on a summer afternoon, and only waking up to go to bed. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that made her seem absolutely tangible to him, despite the absense of her presense. He finally said, to nobody in particular, â€Å"Darling, you’ll never be dead to me.†