Euphoria
I see the spinning airbag, no larger than a child's balloon. A hissing noise startles me. An alcoholic smell creeps into my nose. I look down at my legs. They're fine—not crushed.
I stumble from the wreck and into the arms of a woman. Soothing me in Spanish, she leads me to the curb. I sit and stare at the X-Trail, unable to believe I stepped out of it unharmed. The front looks like a giant has kicked it in. Euphoria floods me. I laugh and tell the woman how lucky I've been. I'm clasping her hand so mine won't shake.
My heart beats an excited rhythm.
I'm alive.
CP
Edith Parzefall studied literature and linguistics in Germany and the United States. She works in Information Technology, but her true passions are writing and traveling. Edith lives in Nürnberg, Germany, and spends part of the year in Australia.
