Worth it

Various scribbled danced about the page. They were useless. No point to them, like the many before, them. I scrupled up the paper into a wrinkled ball and threw it onto the seat opposite me. My compartment was empty. There was no-one else in there. There was a girl. About 25. But she got off a couple of stop ago. I wonder where she was going? What she was doing? That's what writers should be able to do. I couldn't. Because I wasn't meant to be a writer. I should have been a receptionist or something like that. In frustration with my self, I bit the end of my ball-point pen causing it to explode in my mouth. I dropped the pen onto the seat and leaving all of my belongings I stumbled towards the next carriage, covering my blue mouth with my navy hand.

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I looked at her. Sleeping. She looked beautiful when she was sleeping. Even more beautiful than normal. If that was possible. And she was mine. At last. Finally. Deborah. The name of my angel. I looked at her perfect features. Full lips, prominent cheek bones, almond shaped eyes, which where, when open, beautifully brown. Her fingers interlocked with my own 5, I stroked the palm of her hand. She didn't really react. Some of her layered brunette hair fell into her eyes. I brushed it out of the way and tucked it neatly behind her ear. I noticed signs to Tremolat.
"Baby, baby. Wake up. We're getting off soon.
She frowned and opened her eyes slightly, yet she smiled when she saw it was me. What a beautiful smile.

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"Leoni! Get down from there. You're making a fool of your self. NOW! I said sternly, as my daughter leaped and jumped about on the already packed carriage. Why was she playing up now? It was only a couple of minutes left till we had to get off. "Sit down. I hissed under my breath, and she pulled a face, yet sat down into her seat. I looked at Tyler. My brand new baby girl. Born into a life like this. God is cruel sometimes.
"Ow! Jack whined. "She kicked me! Pointing to Leoni when I looked at him.
"Leoni, stop it. I said, tired. Looking out of the window I could see tree's and clouds. Peaceful things. Then suddenly, Abby let loose a piercing scream. The whole compartment seemed to silence. "Abby?! I asked, annoyed. She smiled one of her cheeky little smiles and I looked around the compartment. All of the people were looking at me. Glaring at me. I turned and ignored them.
"Just shut the fuck up! All of you! I hate you when you're like this! I whispered loudly.

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A young girl started scream. I kneeled up on my seat and turned round to look. The young girl was about 6. Her mother was the mother of 5. Poor woman. The whole carriage was looking. The mother's weary, tired eyes looked around. I tried to look sympathetic, but obviously failed as she turned away and began hissing to her children. Is that what motherhood's like? Being judged, looked down upon, and tired? Lonely? Agitated? Frustrated? I stroked my small belly. What would my baby look like? Would it be a boy or a girl? I began thinking of all the things a new mother-to-be should be thinking then I stopped. I couldn't think like that. I was on my way to an abortion clinic.
Clickety-clickety-clickety-clickety-clickety- could my baby hear that 'clickety-clickety-clickety-CLUNK. What was that? I asked my self. So, kneeling up on my seat again, I leaned out of the window. And After that, I don't really remember much.

I opened my eyes, to see the dirty white wall of the toilet. I groaned. What had just happened? One minute I was trying to get the blue out of my mouth, then the next I was pressed against the wall. I squinted. Wiped my face. There was a broken mirror in the corner of the toilet, above the sink. Wiping it of blood I peered into it. I had a small waterfall of blood flowing down my face. I had a small cut in the top of my head. I peeled back my hair and saw that it was deep. Very deep.
I pulled out loads and loads of tissue paper, rolled it up and pressed it against the wound. Using my one free hand I pressed against the door. It wouldn't open. I banged my shoulder against it. It hurt. But I had to get out.
"Help! I cried loudly. There was no answer. I took the tissue paper from my head, laid it down on the toilet seat and tried to use both hands to open the door. Still no success. I cried Help a couple more times. There was still nothing. For that few moments, then I felt truly alone.

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I squinted. I could see blurs. Just blurs. I tried to open my eyes a bit more. Deborah. I blinked my eyes open. Suddenly the thick reality of what had happened hit me. There were tables over thrown, chairs and seats all over the place. People were lying all over the place. Looking dead. Deborah. I sat up. I needed to see her. Deborah. She haunted my mind. She was haunting me, constantly. I tried to stand up, and that's when I noticed. A chair was awkwardly positioned right in front of me. I looked down and saw that not only was the chair ripped up, but the chair and the pole that joined it to the ground had come off. And landed, right in the middle of my thigh. I examined the bloody mess. I lifted my leg up slightly, which hurt like hell. I felt really nauseated when I saw that it had gone straight through, the other side of the pole was sticking out the other side of my leg. I had a hole in my leg. Deborah. I wanted to see her, I needed to see her, I missed her.

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"Mum! Mum! Wake up! Someone shook my shoulder. I opened my eyes.
"Leoni? I asked, "What's wrong?
"Mum, are you alright? She kept asking examining me over. Once she seemed satisfied, she kissed my cheek, (she hadn't done that in a long time) and took my hand, which seemed to hurt more than it should, and led me. I looked around me. There were bodies. People. Blood. Mess. Debris. Chairs. Tables. Luggage. Paper. I stood on a small ball of paper as I tried desperately to not stand on anyone. I began to recognise the compartment I had been in. The same smoky, musty, mouldy, drunken smell that hits you as you enter. It was a mess. There was an alight cigarette on the floor. I just watched it. Leoni had left my side and was rummaging amongst the bodies. Looking for something. I just stood there.
"Mum! She cried. "Mum! We have to find Abby, and Jack and Taylor and Michael. We have to find them now. I looked at her face. Strong, defiant. And I knew, somehow that at that moment, my 12 year old daughter left her childhood. She wasn't a child anymore. And she needed my help. So together, we began moving the bodies checking who they were. Me and my daughter.

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Some one lifted me up and then rolled me back. I was awake. I knew I was. I could see the underside of a seat. What had happened? I tried to stand up. Nothing happened. I kept thinking, stand up. Stand up. Still nothing happened. What was wrong with me? I slapped my right leg. I heard the crack of skin-on-skin and saw my hand whack my leg, but I didn't feel anything. Panic rushed over me. What was happening? I tried to move my legs to make them stand up but they wouldn't do anything. They didn't work. My legs didn't work. It didn't make sense. They had been working since I was born. They had been working for all my life. Why had they stopped now? I was too young to have a faulty body. I was only 16 for Christ's sake.
I felt my face. There was a long incision down the side of my face, I looked up at the window and saw blood, and I knew what had happened. I had been involved in a train crash. I had been thrown against the edge of the window, knocking me out and cutting my face.
What was going to happen to me? Would I be ok?
Suddenly, a woman in a bright orange coat came up to me.
"êtes-vous bien ?
I shook my head. "Je ne peux pas sentir mes jambes. I said and pointed to my legs.
"Vous êtes anglais ? She said. I nodded.
"Ok. You can't feel you legs, no?
I shook my head. She pinched my legs. I shook my head, and felt tears run down my cheeks and into my cut. I winced.
"Ooo! Big nasty cut you have there. She ran two fingers down the cut, I could almost feel the bacteria swimming about.
Even though I couldn't feel my legs and I had a terrible wound, I couldn't stop thinking about something.
"Is my baby ok?
"What?
"I'm having a baby. Er¦ J'ai un bébé... Je suis enceinte, avec l'enfant.
"Ah! I don't know. We'll take you to hospital quick. See there. I nodded. She probably didn't have a clue what I was saying. But I needed to know.

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Finally, I burst the door open. I slid out through the tiny crack that I'd pushed open, as soon as I had crept out, the door slammed shut again. I looked up and down the aisle. There was luggage everywhere. And Orange paramedics swarmed everywhere like bee's over a precious flower. Except this flower wasn't a precious flower, this flower was wilted, almost dead. I saw destruction everywhere. Most of the train was on it's side. So I kept walking, as I walked, a woman, distraught, hair all over the place grabbed my arm.
Please help! She cried. "I can't find my son. He's only 4. Please¦ I just looked at her. I saw she had 4 other children. All looking tired, worn-out and hurt. I looked at her face. Aged with worry. I swallowed and stepped round her and her grubby children. I kept walking, till I found a door. I climbed out of the door. And ran. I ran. I wanted to get as far away as possible.

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A man approached me. He asked if I was English in French then said,
"Hello. What's you're name? I grunted my name at him.
Right, then. Oooh! Nasty! Right, we have to get you out. Deborah.
"No, I panted, I felt weaker and weaker.
We have to. You're losing a lot of blood. Please. Let me help you. I know what I'm doing.
"Please¦ Tell¦. Tell Deborah.. Deborah Williams¦ tell her that¦ Melanie loves¦ her¦ She if she's ok¦. Please¦
"Melanie, you're really ill, you might die if we don't get you out now.
"Please¦ I panted. I clutched my leg. There was the most immense pain I've ever felt in my entire life surging through my body, like a soldier on a mission. The man looked at me sympathetically. And left. I knew what he was thinking.
Poor lesbian girl, caught up in the moment. Poor poor girl. Everyone thought that.
I wasn't stupid.
The man seemed to take for ages. I kept closing my eyes. I was tired that was all. That's what I had to keep thinking. I was tired. I wasn't ill. I didn't need to go to hospital. I was just tired.
When eventually the man did come back he began tending to my leg immediately.
"Where is she?
"I'm sorry, there's no-one awake that answers to the name Deborah Williams.
I gulped. No-one. I closed my eyes. I was just tired. Tired of being alone.

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I hugged my children hard. I hugged them so hard, they might burst. Then and there. I was fit to burst. Fit to burst with joy. My little Michael, he was ok. He was alive. All my children, ok and alive. Nothing was wrong. Just a little cut and a graze here and there. But nothing wrong.
I could have stood there all day hugging my children, but Leoni broke free and began trying to open the door that was no the ceiling as part of the train had rocked over onto it's side. I watched as she eventually pushed the door open, clambered out onto the roof and held her hands out through the gap. I lifted up Jack. He grabbed his sister's hands and was lifted to safety on the roof. Then Abby, then Michael, then Taylor. Then I stood on a seat and pulled myself up. Then, using the same kind of operation we jumped down from the side. Jumping to safety and freedom. Then I knew what I had to do. I led the children over to the road, they stood in a circle together gossiping about the crash whilst I rummaged in my purse and finally got out £500 in cash. Leoni looked on in awe.
How did you get that much money? She asked. I smiled. Tapped the side of my nose. And led my children off to freedom. Freedom, and safety.

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I was probably one of the first people from the train crash to get into the hospital. I was seen to pretty quickly. It wasn't very good. My cut on my face was probably going to heal, but since the train was quite old, it's highly likely that I'll get an infection and that I'll have a large scar. Also, I was told almost instantly after I arrived that I would never be able to walk again.
"I'm terribly sorry. But I'm afraid there's nothing we can do.
But even then, when I was being told at 16 that I wouldn't be able to walk again, there was only one thing on my mind.
"How's my baby?

It was a highly-unlikely incident, and my baby, dispite miraculously surviving the crash, would most likely have problems when born but it was too early on to tell anything. But it just goes to show, these doctors don't know everything. For now, I'm 20. I've got the most gorgeous daughter in the whole entire world, who has nothing wrong with her at all. You can hardly see my scar, and although I'll never walk again, it's worth it. The crash was worth it. Breaking my spine was worth it. For if none of that had happened. Alicia Jane wouldn't be here. She would have been aborted. Alicia Jane wouldn't be here. And that would be the worst thing in the world.