The song ‘The Artist In The Ambulance’ By Thrice inspired me to write this- the lyrics are the words in italics. Ever since I first heard it, I felt the need to expand the story. Think of the lyrics as Frank’s subconscious. They are the things that he realises after everything is over, but couldn’t say to himself directly because of the emotion of the accident. Enjoy.

By the way, there seems an unwritten law on this site for disclaimers, so here's mine: I don't own anything but the fiction.

 

Mikey and I had just gotten drunk and high at a party. Heading home, neither of us had any clue of what was about to happen- what we had gotten ourselves into.

The road was wet, I was drunk. It happened really fast but those few split seconds that I knew we were spinning out were terrifying.

When I woke up I just sat there, not even opening my eyes. I could feel someone tugging at my arm, and I was pulled out of the car and onto the asphalt. My body was completely limp and my life was in someone else’s hands, I didn’t even have the power to lift my eyelids.

 

 

After a while I got my strength back, and I saw that it was a paramedic that had pulled me out of my car and was helping me.

“What’s your name?”

“Uhh..” I moaned

“What’s your name?!”

“Frank.”

“Good, how old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“You’ve been in a car accident, the road was..” Their voice faded away as I remembered that my best friend Mikey was in the car with me. I looked up at the car, and the image was horrifying.

It was Mikey. Lying. On the hood of my car. His frail body slumped among the glass of the windshield that his head had broken. There were people there, trying to get him out without damaging him further.

“MIKEY!!”

 

 

This could be the scene in the movie of Mikey’s life.. where it ends..

 

The paramedics get together to lift me onto a stretcher and soon I’m seeing the inside of the back of an ambulance.

“How’s my friend? Is he gonna be okay? Please help him!” The pain doesn’t hurt any more. I don’t care that I’m covered in blood. All I care about is Mikey. If he dies, I won’t be able to cope.

“He’s alive, but in a critical condition. They’re cutting him out of the car now.” Was the reply.

I let out a sob. This is my fault. They’re cutting him out of the car. It was so bad, that he couldn’t be gotten out without using a machine. I covered my face with my hands and continued crying as they closed the doors and I felt myself being sped to the nearest hospital.

Images of Mikey’s battered body haunted my mind through the buzz of the engine, and the bright white inside of the vehicle. After a while, I felt tired. I couldn’t take it, and fell asleep.

 

 

I’ve tried so hard in the past to take care of Mikey. But now my own stupidity could be his end. After years of taking shit from everyone, the one that cared about him most could be the one that finally killed him. How tragically ironic.

From now on, if he gets better, I’m gonna give it everything to do what’s right for the both of us. I’m determined not to give up this time. This is it. No more.

 

 

I hope that this hasn’t led to his death. I know that it could happen. All I have is hope.

 

 

We say that we’re gonna get clean, but another chain of events sweeps us past coping, and we turn to the chemicals once again. Why do we continue to speak when our words mean nothing?

Talk is cheap, so cheap and useless. What I’ve said isn’t what matters now, when my best friend’s life is hanging by a thread.

From now on, we’re going to follow our own path. The world can’t take us this time.

 

 

The horrific images continue to resonate in my mind as I find myself lying in a hospital bed. My worst regret, over and over again. I can hardly remember what I said to Mikey in the car, but all I can remember is the moment when we actually looked in each others’ eyes, the only moment of sanity in this whole time. Then I remember about three seconds, the light rain, blue moonlight, red light, and that sound. The screech of the tyres. Everything went black for a while, then the emergency crew got us. I was pulled out of the car. Mikey was cut out.

I was given a second chance, I was lucky. Looking back, being pulled out of the car made me feel like an angel was lifting me from my life, the previous course I had taken that led me to the accident.

 

 

I hope I didn’t let him down.

 

One of the paramedics that saved me came into my room on a quiet day, when there were no accidents that he needed to tend to. He told me everything that happened.

 

After he closed the doors of the ambulance that contained me, he went over to the crumpled car with Mikey hanging out the front. They had, in fact, used a machine to cut him out of the wreckage. After enough of the car was gone to safely get him out, a group of about 5 or 6 carefully moved him out and straight onto a stretcher, and into a waiting ambulance. He was unconscious the whole time, so he wasn’t in pain.

Soon at the hospital, he was first at the emergency ward, and the lights fully illustrated the damage that had been done to his body. People either stared or looked away, he said, his head was split open, and blood covered his clothes.

It was sad, what happened. The paramedic said he’d seen a lot, but this was kind of heartbreaking. It was obvious that he was such a nice boy, a sweet young guy, despite what had happened. That made me think of what he was like when he was clean and sober. He was a nice, sweet guy, and so much more.

The guy continued to explain Mikey in the emergency room- they cut Mikey’s shirt open to do some stuff; he said that was what usually happens in accidents like this. His glasses were broken, blood was in his hair. It was all over his face too.

It sounded so different to the normal Mikey.

They gave him stitches under a local anesthetic. His head was sewn up easy, he said. Out of emergency, he’d been in intensive care for two days now- I’d been asleep that long. Now it was a matter of waiting for him to come to.

 

 

 

Mikey woke up this morning, and I went into his room to visit him. The nurses had cleaned him up but he was still looking a little off. Pale skin, thinner than usual, he looked up at me as I approached his bed. It was so hard seeing him like this, and I broke down. “Mikey, I’m so sorry.” I managed to get out between sobs. I could see tears running down his cheeks.

“Frank, it was as much my fault as it was yours.” His voice was weak too.

“I should have taken care of us. I was so stupid. Seeing you in the wreckage, Mikey, it was almost too much to bear.” He must have seen how distressed I was and he shakily took my hand.

“It’s okay now Frankie. I’m gonna get better and we’re gonna be out of here.”

Despite having tears running down my face, I had to give him a small smile.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.”

 

We talked for a little bit, appreciating each others’ company. Something we hadn’t really done before. But he was still tired, so I let him rest. I didn’t leave though. I just sat there thinking about how lucky I was for Mikey to have gotten a second chance too. If he had died, my luck (getting away from the scene alive) would have meant nothing. A couple of hours later I told him everything that I had thought and felt after what happened. I told him that this time I was serious about getting clean, and he said he would do it with me.

 

Mikey was in hospital for 18 days, then we left together. We left everything behind. We’ve been clean and sober for 3 months now, quite an accomplishment. It was hard, but we pulled through. Like Mikey pulled through for me. I feel I owe him so much for causing the whole thing, but he says he owes me for getting us back on the right track.

 

I was the artist in the ambulance, my body lying in the hands of strangers. But my life was with Mikey, in the car. It took the limp, battered body of my best friend to illustrate the way my life was. Had it been anyone else, it wouldn’t have had the impact it did. But it happened. And I’m on the road to recovery. The artist in the ambulance.