Creative Writing 2

My sick mind thought this up one afternoon on the way home. So bad am I that I originally had my own name in the story, but decided that was morbid.

Enjoy. Don't. I just needed to get it out into print. When I thought of this, I was on my way home and it brought a tear to my eyes.

I haven't checked spelling nor grammar. I don't have time for such nonsense! ;)

~~~

"Tell the kids that I love them," he said, but not in the way a father would say such a thing on any day. His voice was panicked, albeit controlled. His labored breath misted the cell phone as he spoke the words again with sad urgency, "Tell my kids I love them. Tell Rachel I love her too."

It started earlier afternoon. Tim thought that he would surprise his wife, Rachel, by coming home a little early and enjoy dinner with the family. On nights like that, when they were all home and dinner was finished at a decent hour, they sometimes went out for a drive or shopping to wear the kids out a little before bed. Tim liked nights like that. They wore him out a little too and put his mind on something else besides the pressures of work.

He would take his usual route home, which would have him cross the bridge that spanned the bay then onward to the long highway home. He had become accustom to the long drive, another way to defuse from the day's work.

The kids, two little ones young enough not to know that Daddy was late for almost every meal, stayed at his parents house during the day. The free daycare was one reason Tim and Rachel had decided that the long commute was worth it.

He took his usual route him and saw the storm clouds ahead. It wasn't out of the ordinary for a summer storm to brew up and this year's offering had been exceptionally fruitful. Each day for the past few weeks, he was faced with wet roads on his way home. Today, he would face them as well.

The rain started coming down before the bridge and cars were already beginning to stop on the side of the road. He never stopped, even at the worst. Not on the side of the road. He had always thought that was just plain dangerous.

By the time he got on the bridge, he couldn't see far beyond his wipers and had slowed considerably. The bridge was really a causeway that fingered out across the bay with a short spanned bridge in the middle. Everyone just called it a bridge, though, and he had always known it as that.

There were very few cars that had gone on and Tim was virtually alone on the road. One large truck had sped on through the rain, creating a cloud of mist that only made the visibility more difficult.

It happened in an instant that felt like an eternity. There was a lull in the rain, so Tim's foot pressed on the gas a little to get over the bridge that humped across the gap created by the two fingers of the causeway. A moment later, he realized that the car wasn't accelerating. His car was hydroplaning. Tim was used to this. Rainy days made this happen at times, so he let up on the gas slightly to allow the wheels to slow gradually. But he was too late. In the instant he made that decision, the left front wheel caught and his car began turning.

It seemed to be slow motion. What an odd feeling it was to be whirling in a circle, out of control. The sensation of slow motion interested Tim in that instant before the car struck the water. He had always read stories about people in car crashes, but this was really happening and it was really happening how they said.

He felt an odd sensation. Water. He was seated in it. He was covered in it. His shoulders were dry, but his head was wet.

Tim realized quickly his situation. His car had crashed past the edge of the bridge and tumbled into the bay just beyond. He knew this spot. It wasn't something that was seen easily from the road and, in this storm, it was going to be impossible for anyone to know he was here. He was alone. He tried the door and couldn't move it. His seat belt was jammed and his legs felt heavy. After a while, he knew that he was in a submerged car, alone and that water was coming in.

Moments felt like hours. He struggled to free himself again and again. The water lever rose. To his knees. To his waist.

His waist.

He reached down into the water and fumbled a moment as he unclipped his cell phone from his belt. Tim frantically dialed the phone.

"911. What is your emergency?"

"I'm in my car on the bridge and I'm in the water. Send someone to get me out of here."

"Sir, tell me where you are exactly."

"I'm in the bay. My car went off the side of the Bridge and I'm in the water. It's on the East side of the span. Please hurry. The water level is rising. It's to my chest now."

"Stay on the line with me. Emergency vehicles are on the way. Can you get out of the car?"

"No, I can't move. My legs are stuck and I can't open the door."

"Stay where you are, ok?"

"The water is rising faster now. I..."

Just then, Tim made a decision. He hung up the phone and dialed his parents home.

"Hello?"

"Mom?" The cold line of water crept up his shoulders now and Tim craned his head back to
speak.


"Hi, Tim. Are you alright?"

"Tell the kids that I love them," he said. His mother made a small noise and started to speak.

"Tell my kids I love them. Tell Rachel I love her too," he interrupted with urgency in his voice. The water was to his chin now, even with his head lifted as high as he could lift it.

"My God, Tim, what's wrong? Are you alright?" her voice was now growing more frenzied, "Wade, Tim's on the phone and something's wrong!" She spoke to his father and suddenly his dad's voice came on, "Tim? Where are you?"

"Dad. Kiss the kids. I love you. I love Mom. Ok?" The water had covered his ears now, so he couldn't hear any reply, but he kept talking to the phone as he struggled against the seat belt, "I love you. Help Rachel. Tell them I love them. Oh my God. Oh..."