Broken glass on the ground
Reflecting light from all around
These tiny pieces of my soul
In brilliant colors, greens and gold's
Bleeding life from inside of me
The crimson glass pouring out of me
Passion dying, losing spledor
From purple to blue, losing it's hue
My life in all it's stained glass glory
Nothing more than my tragic story
Unknown Ally In Manhatten, NY
January 12, 2006
The sound of footsteps running out of the ally brings me back, and brings the pain back too. I slam my eyes closed again as the usually soft glow of the streetlights blind me.
I bring my hand up to rub my eyes, trying to remember what happened. The sticky blood on my face shocks me for a moment, before everything comes rushing back.
I try to sit up but the pain in my left side steals my breathe, forcing me back down. I feel the tears start running down my face, and am completely tempted to start panicking.
I focus on my gasping breathes, trying to calm down. I cautiously open my eyes again, this time prepared for the light, and take in my surrounding.
I see my purse lying a few feet away, and feel a rush of relief. I brace myself against the pain and slowly inch my way over to it, praying my phone is still there.
I finally get to it and am shocked and relived to find not only my phone, but my wallet too. I pull my phone out, and open it, my fingers posed to dial.
But my mind blanks on me, and I can't remember the number. I feel the panic starting to build again, and close my eyes, trying not to cry. Knowing that panicking right now isn't going to help at all.
I follow my yoga teacher's advice and focus on clearing my mind. Amazing how I could never achieve that during class. Finally the panic subsides and I'm able to think again.
I dial quickly, and wait for a ring… and wait… and wait. Finally I get an answer, just not the one I was waiting for. "I'm sorry, the number you dialed is currently unavailable…"
I slam the phone shut, laughing hysterically. Imagine misdialing 911. I laugh until I'm crying and gasping for breathes. I slowly open the phone again, and while dialing, notice that my battery is almost dead.
Praying that my battery will last, and that I dialed correctly this time, I wait for the ring again. This time I don't have to wait long.
"911 Emergency dispatcher. What's you emergency?" the voice answers tiredly. I don't blame her seeing as its two o'clock in the morning.
Choking back the pain, I answer in a whisper. "Help me." That can't be my voice.
"What's wrong, sweetie?" the voice answers in response.
I roll my eyes mentally at the pet name, since I'm in too much pain to actually do it. "I was raped. I'm cold…" That voice again whispers.
"Can you tell me where you are? Are there any signs?" the once soothing voice now getting annoyingly close to patronizing.
Like I can remember, it took awhile for me to remember how to dial 911! "I don't know." Seriously, whose voice is that? Cause it's certainly not mine.
"It's alright, sweetie. I'm tracking your call, help will be there soon." the voice now grating on my already frayed nerves.
I nod my head, momentarily forgetting that she can't see me. "Okay." that same scratchy voice answers. I nod my head again, trying to keep awake, but the movement only serving to intensify the pain.
"Keep talking to me, sweetheart. How are you feeling?" the voice grates in my ear.
How am I feeling? Other than the fact that my entire left side went numb awhile ago, and I'm freezing my derriere off, I'm perfectly fine! "My leg hurts." that voice stating the obvious.
"What's wrong with your leg?" the voice rudely breaking into my thoughts.
What do you think is wrong with my leg? It is hurt, obviously. "Met…" that voice trailing off with a cross between a scream and a groan.
I feel my eyes start closing again, and fight to keep them open, but the pain in my head and leg have other ideas. I feel myself starting to black out.
The last thing that registers in my mind is the sound of sirens…