A Walkerton Writer Strikes Again

Our most recent writing assignment was to find a news story and write it from two different perspectives. We needed to use details from the story, but were allowed to take liberaties and add fictional elements as we liked.

I selected a story about a sandstorm in Germany. The storm, however bizarre, caused an 80-car pileup and many of the cars were burned as a result. Here's my take on the story:

Clare

I know I’m forgetting something! I don’t know how people can be ready at a moment’s notice to fly out of the country on business. Some of us need a little time to consider what to pack. What’s the weather? Will I need a dress? Are there any social functions? And that’s just the clothes! What about this crazy red mane? The constant rainy, damp weather in London will be a complete shock to it! It may need special attention to tame. There are just too many variables for my taste. At least I managed to throw some things into a suitcase and head to the airport in the short window I was given. I should consider that a good omen!

Now I just need the traffic to cooperate. The route to the airport is always an adventure. Faint-hearted drivers just stay off the Audubon. I still remember my first time on the famed roadway—saw my life flash before my eyes! These days it is just a way to get from Point A to Point B.

What is going on? Why are the cars ahead slowing down? I hope it’s not an accident. That’s the last thing I need!

Come on, folks! Let’s go! Move ye arses!

Shite! Oh… maybe that’s what people are slowing for! I’ve never been in one, but I’m fairly certain that’s a sandstorm heading this way. It looks just like a summer storm brewing, but it’s a strange glowing brown color.

If we all just keep at this pace, nice and slow, easy going, I might make it to the airport right before the plan takes off. I wonder if they still expect me to be there two full hours ahead for my international flight. I don’t want to have to call my boss and tell him I missed my flight. I’ve only been at my job for five months. I don’t think he’d looked highly on this. I’m supposed to be show him I can handle the responsibility. I’m actually very good at my job—not just another pretty Irish redhead named Clare.

I still can’t believe I landed this position. I moved to Germany nine months ago to live with my boyfriend and I’d nearly given up landing a job at the prestigious Fischer Marketing Firm. Irish luck must have been on my side though—several resumes, numerous inquisitive calls and even offers to work for free finally wore down the Director. Now I need to show them all I am up for the challenge! And the first challenge I have to overcome, obviously, is making my flight!

Right now, all I can do is concentrate on the road ahead, because it looks like I am going to have to drive right into that massive brown cloud. Great. I just paid this car off and now it’s going to get a sand-papering from the storm. I wonder what my insurance will cover in a situation like this. After this, my car may need a new paint job. But if I knock ‘em dead at this meeting in London, I might be able to afford something extravagant like that paint job.

Bloody hell! The wind is really picking up! I can see the cars ahead of me struggling to stay in their lane. I sure hope this storm passes quickly. I am not a fan of driving in less-than-ideal conditions—especially on this road where just keeping up with the masses seems dangerous.

Ok, wee car, just stay on the road. I’ll guide us through this mess. We’ll be on the other side in no time.

Isn’t this grand? I can’t see anything! What’s the point in headlights if they aren’t lighting the road? All I see is the wall of sand surrounding us. I guess as long as I don’t see any other cars I’m fine.

Damn! That was close!

Just a little further, I’m sure of it. How big can this sandstorm be? My palms are sweating and I’m white-knuckling the poor steering wheel. I guess I’m a little more scared than I thought. Deep breaths. I’m going to be just fine. Breathe.

OH NO! NO! NO! NO!

What happened? Never saw the cars—they came out of nowhere. I couldn’t hit the brakes fast enough. They must have piled up in the sandstorm.

Something doesn’t feel right. I can’t move my legs. And I think I’m bleeding. Yeah, that’s definitely blood on my hand. I must have knocked my head on the steering wheel when I hit that car. So much for paying off my car.

WOW. I feel sore in places I didn’t even know were there. I hope someone called an ambulance and the police, possibly a few firefighters to get me out of here.

Oh my God. What is that smell? Does a sandstorm smell like that? Like dirt and burning rubber? It must be coming from the other cloud—that thick, black one ahead. At least I can see the orange sky starting to show through the brown haze ahead of me. God, I hope they hurry up and get me out of here. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.

Firefighter

What was that noise? How could the world be so heartless and wake me from the best dream ever—spring break in the Caribbean with a bevy of models. Who can I talk to about continuing this dream every night? Note to self—I better not mention this to my girlfriend. I’m not sure she’d have the same fun imaging it as I did.

Ok, Ok. I’m up! I know the drill—not my first fire, people! You’d think after five years on the job here and four before that in the U.S., they’d stop treating me like the new guy. I guess they’ll always see me as the newbie since I’m only 26 and youngest of the lifers on the crew.

Ha! Look who’s the first one on the engine! Take that—I showed those old guys!

Even though I wish I could have stayed in that dream a little longer, I never tire of the rush of excitement I get from jumping out of sleep into rescue mode. I think that’s what sold me on this job. I don’t have a hero complex, but I have to admit to being an adrenaline junkie. But nothing gets me going like a fire. I can’t explain it. There’s just something mystical and timeless about it. Fire has been around forever—it’s amazing!

I didn’t hear the call specifics, only the alarm, but from what I can hear the guys mumbling, it’s going to be a nasty one. A freak sandstorm or something on the Audubon caused a pile-up. I have no idea what kind of scene we will find when we get there, but with that many cars and people involved it’s going to be pretty bad.

I’ve never been one to shy away from gruesome scenes, but a few in my career have tested my strength. Those are the ones you never forget and I hope I don’t ever get used to those kinds of scenes.

Damn! How can the Captain see the road ahead of us? The sandstorm may have died down, but there is still plenty of brown dust in the air mixed with black smoke. I better put my mask on if I plan on getting my job done in this mess.

Oh my God… I’ve never seen anything like this. How many cars are involved? There must be close to 100! We’re going to need more help! We can’t possibility handle this alone!

Snap out of it, Luca. You have a job to get done. No time to waste. Do what you were trained to do and tune the rest out.

Deep breath. First, is the fire under control? I smell burning rubber and am seriously thankful I put my mask on before getting out of the truck. That smoke! It’s moving across the scene before me like a solid being. I’ve only been able to get a few glimpses of how bad things really are. I’ll have to rely on instinct.

Ok, the fire is out. It’s just smoke lingering. The cars I’ve been able to get to on the outskirts of the pile-up aren’t too bad. Of course, the drivers are really shaken up and unable to get out of their wrecked cars, but otherwise alright.

“Sir? Sir, can you hear me?”

No answer. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised since his SUV is now the size of a Smart car. I need to say a quick prayer for him—I’ve done that for all the accident victims I’ve come across in my career. There’s always time for that.

Keep moving, Luca. Don’t linger more than you need to. There may be people still trapped who need help.

Climbing over the tangled mass of vehicles and wreckage, my attempts at finding anyone alive went unanswered. Closer into the middle of the pile-up, cars were blackened with heavy fire damage and no longer recognizable. Scenes like this you don’t know whether to hope for survivors or not. Living or dying through this is something no one should have to go through.

I’m not holding out much hope of finding anyone alive, but I know I still have to check each car.

Only one more vehicle left—another that was fully engulfed in flames. I’m not sure I will ever be able to get this day out of my mind. The number of people killed is astounding. I feel for all the families affected by this tragedy and won’t take for granted going home to my girlfriend.

The sooner I check this car, the sooner I’m home with Clare.

Link to story: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/42497862/ns/weather/t/sandstorm-causes-deadly--car-pileup-germany/

Not for Lack of Wanting

Assignment: Write and 1500 word essay based around & using the sentence "I have never wanted anything so badly in my life." Below is my essay.

I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life. We were at the second specialist in a week and neither offered many options for the future. Though I tried to remain positive, it was becoming increasingly harder to keep hope for a treatment.

We’d been together, me and Roxy (or Miss Priss as I was prone to call her), for nine years—from the day I picked her out among the kittens available from the SPCA. A wee thing back then and only 10 weeks old, she melted my heart right off the bat when I found her curled up into a slightly older orange tabby. It was a ball of cuteness that even hardened men couldn’t ignore.

Two weeks earlier I’d asked my husband, Aaron, to take Roxy to the vet. She’d had a few questionable outcomes with trips to the litter box and I thought it should be checked out. I also instructed him to have her watery eye checked out. If she had an eye infection, she’d need antibiotic eye drops and I’d wrestle her to get them in as I always did.

The day Aaron took Roxy to her appointment I kept myself occupied with work. Though I didn’t believe there was reason to worry, I tended to find myself on edge whenever doctors were involved.

When I answered the phone expecting to hear news of what was ailing Roxy, I was greeted with a peculiar question from Aaron, “Did you notice this bump on Roxy’s head?”

“What bump? I never noticed anything.” I replied, confused by the question and searching my memory for anything I might have missed.

He went on to describe the protrusion the vet found on her forehead. It was palpable and even visible upon closer examination, but still easy to overlook due to her multi-colored tabby camouflage. The vet didn’t have a clear understanding of the bump’s origin or make-up and tossed around hypothetical diagnoses of a cyst or cancer. Before Aaron brought Roxy home, they performed a needle aspiration and sent the sample off for testing.

I spent the next few days trying to retain positive thoughts, talking myself through the options. If the bump turned out to be a cyst, the fix was easy—lance and drain. Should the test came back as cancer, we’d pick an aggressive treatment plan and take care of the situation. No problem.

Roxy’s doctor called after three days with news of what the biopsy uncovered. None of the scenarios I imagined could really prepare me for the diagnosis she delivered.

Cancer.

Cancer was in her sinus cavity, from what they could tell, but they had not yet done enough tests to determine the severity, the extent and the treatment options. Armed with the name of a veterinary surgeon, I immediately thanked the vet and called the number held in my shaking hand. After explaining the news I’d just received to the receptionist, I scheduled an appointment for the next morning.

Our time with the specialist proved to deliver even more dire news. The surgeon, a quiet man in his late 40s with balding hair, had a gentle demeanor. He spoke softly, but compassionately relayed the information we’d need in order to make our decisions.

“I’ve taken a look at the biopsy results your vet sent over and Roxy does have cancer. From what I can tell, it’s a mass in her cranial area where her sinuses are located. The mass is pressing against her left eye causing it to shift slightly from its socket. It’s also starting to crowd the area shared with the brain.” Dr. Trenton explained.

“Is there a treatment for her—surgery? Radiation or chemo?” I asked, inside praying for an easy answer from someone who had experience.

“I’m not sure which treatment would be appropriate or even useful in dealing with the cancer.” He went on to ask, “Has Roxy had any symptoms? Loss of appetite? Seizures?”

“No, she’s still eating and playing. She might be sleeping a little more, but she hasn’t had any seizures.” I answered.

“I’m very surprised to hear that. With the amount the mass is pressing upon the brain, I thought she would have had a few more symptoms. She really sounds like a miracle kitty.” The surgeon noted with surprise in his voice and further explained. “To really get a better understanding of what we are up against, we should get an MRI. I won’t know if surgery is an option until I get a clearer picture of where the mass is located.”

Agreeing with his recommendation to get further testing, I gave my consent to schedule the MRI appointment.

Aaron took Roxy to the clinic the next morning and dropped her off. She needed to stay there for a while in order for her to be put under anesthesia. It was the only way to keep her still enough for the images to come out clearly. I, again, took refuge in work and tried not to think about what she might be going through. Relief flooded me when the technician called to let me know Roxy woke up from the medication and could be picked up later. I’d happily spring her from the vet’s office as there’s a sadness only a pet owner can understand when they leave with their arms empty.

The results from Roxy’s MRI were explained to us the next day. The news left nothing to the imagination. As we were aware, the cancer had grown into her sinus cavity causing her left eye to shift. Because of the location of the cancer, surgery was not an option and the use of radiation and chemotherapy as a workable alternative had become very slim. Armed with additional information, we were referred to a veterinary oncologist in Northern Virginia. The doctor there was one of two in the state and she had become our last option for Roxy.

I scheduled a phone consultation with the oncologist to determine if the treatment she offered would be a viable choice. After Roxy’s test results and scans had been reviewed, it came down to a few simple questions.

“If Roxy was your cat, what would you do?” I posed, hoping her education and the hypothetical plight of her own pet would help me make a decision.

“I would do the radiation and chemo. Cats tolerate the treatment very well and have little to no side effects. From the results I have seen in our office with other cats, this might help her.” She responded.

“Will this cure her?”

“No, with this type of cancer, it’s very likely that it will come back in about six months. I have seen some of my patients last longer though. One even lived another year and a half before recurrence.” The specialist offered matter-of-factly.

I hung up the phone and suddenly felt the serious decisions looming heavily before me. I wished for many things: to crawl under the blankets and pretend like everything was ok, to find a miracle cure for Roxy, to let someone else make the call. Unfortunately, none of those things happened and I went about going over all the options in my mind.

Life went on as usual at home, with morning escapades and evening cuddle time where Miss Priss was showered with affectionate rubs. She still kept herself busy with her old tricks and habits—sitting on the back of the sofa to look out the window, attacking her brother, pawing us in the morning for food and partaking in meal time when she got her way.

After a very emotional conversation with Aaron, I decided to go ahead with the radiation and chemo treatments, all the while feeling in my heart that Roxy was one of those cats who would do well and survive longer than any doctor ever thought. She would be a survivor. She was a miracle kitty, after all.

Perhaps it was because I knew Roxy was sick that I began to notice her need to get away and hide in strange new places in the house. And maybe because I knew she was sick that my imagination started to drift to places I didn’t want to consider. Finally, I had to admit to myself that there was a real possibility she might not recover. The more I thought about it, the louder the voice of my heart became. If it was this hard to go through Roxy’s illness, how could I put her—or myself—through it all another time when she got sick again? I couldn’t. I called the next morning and cancelled the treatment.

As the cancer progressed, she slowed down a bit more—longer naps and fewer romps with her brother. She never lost her affectionate side or her playful nature and because she still seemed so much like herself, I struggled trying to understand how I would know when it was time to make the final decision.

Though I had spent the last few days in a constant state of sadness and reflection, I was able to clearly see when it was time to take Miss Priss on her last car ride. The cancer growth had progressed in such a way that her left eye protruded greatly, causing the eyelid to flip inside out. It was a sign I could not ignore and asked Aaron to call and make the appointment.

As we drove home after Roxy’s last trip, tears ran down my cheeks as my mind flashed through the wonderful times I shared with her. What a miracle she was to my life!