Our day started at 2:15 in the morning. We’re woken up by the loud, fluttering noise of the alarm. From a dead sleep we're now running to the pole. A static filled speaker tells us we're going to a vehicle accident with a person pinned inside on the Southeast side of town. I put on my bunker pants and jacket and climb on as the truck starts up and the bay door opens. Lights on. Ladder 1 en route.
The city’s skyline disappears behind the truck as the red lights reflect off the side of the ladder. The words “Capitol City” painted on the side. Siren screaming as Tommy weaves the truck through the city streets.
Somewhere there’s a man trapped in the wreckage of what used to be his car. We’ve been called out by Engine 10 to extricate him. I pray on the way there. Pray for protection. Pray for swiftness and competence on arrival. Ask for angels to be there with us. The truck starts to idle down, and brakes whine as we get closer to the scene. Air brakes hiss and doors open. Feet on the street. Ladder 1 on scene. I look over and see my Captain, a short man with stocky build, closing his jacket. “It’s a pin-in, grab the tools!” I open the compartment door and he grabs the large cutters. I grab the hydraulic pump and throw the lines on top. It’s heavy in my arms, its weight making me walk awkwardly. As I come around the truck, I take in the scene. White car, four door, on its wheels, front-end collision with a power pole, heavy damage, access to patient through driver door not possible, police blocking traffic, EMS on scene, Engine 10’s crew working feverishly, 1 patient being treated, IV’s started, unconscious, bloody male, mid twenties – early thirties. Hard to tell.
I set the pump down and run back to the truck and grab the heavy ...
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And for the first time since our arrival, his eyes open.
We load him onto the Ambulance, the Medics climb in, and the doors close. We watch as the ambulance disappears down the street and around a corner, its reflective lettering temporarily flashing, as it passes under the streetlights.
We clean up, put our tools back on the truck, all talk for a minute and give each other handshakes. Our three trucks head 3 different ways through the intersection. I exhale the built up tension, and feel myself relax some and I give thanks. We’re headed back to quarters, the truck rocking and bumping, when I see the red lights come on. The reflection, flashing on the side of the Ladder, again. The siren winds up, and starts screaming, and Tommy hits the gas. I look at my watch, my face illuminated by its little green glow.
Its 3:05 in the morning. Ladder 1, en route.
Finally, the awful silence radiated throughout the land. Everyone knew by then, if not before, that any chance for a reprieve was impossible. The young men would die, and the village would be saved. Only the sound of the loud, heavy truck starting its engine gave thought that perhaps this would not be the last carnage, the last sacrifice to this village, or the neighboring villages. Perhaps the big, lumbering truck would forever hold the watchful eyes of those evil enough to order the massacre of innocence.
Envision yourself in a deep sleep, your spouse lying next to you. For seven years of marriage, your greatest quandary has been your partners obnoxious snoring. Now, you are rattled awake by the wailing of your smoke detector, just outside your bedroom door. You hear the sobbing of your three month old baby boy from just down the hall, and feel the tug of you five year old son on the sleeve of your t-shirt. Forced out the second story window by the fuming blaze barricading the only outlet of the room, you free fall 22 feet onto the frozen ground. Beyond smoke inhalation and second degree burns, you now have a fractured ankle and several severe lacerations. Your spouse, your eldest son, and yourself are now free from the bloodthirsty inferno. Sirens howl, two blocks away. A rescue engine, equipped with three firefighters, is first on scene- 18 minute response time. A second engine arrives, equipped with three firefighters- 23 minute response time. Twenty-five minutes after the initial alarm, a hand line is pulled. Incident commander declares the residence unsafe for entrance. This rescue mission has now become a recovery mission.
The next job was an early firefighter, whose only equipment was a man-powered helmet that had fresh air pumped into it by a contraption called a bellows from outside the building so that the wearer could breathe. The firefighter helmet was very heavy, bulky, and awkward and the wearer couldn’t see the ground due to the rectangular eye windows that didn’t allow sight below eye level. There were two more jobs that went along with the firefighter. One job was the Pumper, who stood outside and pumped on the bellows with their foot in order to pump air to the firefighter helmet. If they stopped pumping, then the firefighter would suffocate and die. The next job is the climber, who’s only equipment was a long ladder that...
I must have fallen asleep because one minute I’m writing, then the next thing I know I’m being shaken awake by the bus driver Grant. He told me that it was eight o’clock and that this was my stop. I got off the bus and realized that I have no way of getting to Hollis’s house. Luckily Aurora,being the perfect little town it is, there was a man renting out bikes. There was even a basket on the front for me to put my backpack in. I got directions from the same guy, and it turns out Hollis lives only five blocks away.
“Get the doc now!” Mother shrieked. Bump, crash, bang, the stretcher carried my lifeless body down a populous hall. “Get and I-V now! Heart beats are slowing, we may need resuscitation, get me the shocks now!” “Oh my lord, no please don’t take my boy lord! Not now…” My mom snuffled. *Whimpers and cries”
The tones go off, there is a scramble for shirts, ties, and boots. Dispatch announces a motor vehicle accident five blocks away. EMTs and Paramedics climb into ambulances. Police are reporting multiple personal injuries. There is a rush of adrenaline through all those involved. The street comes alive with flashing red and white lights and screaming sirens. Ambulances tear down the street to the accident scene. They arrive to find four cars involved in a high-speed collision. There are seven people involved in this particular accident. Additional trucks are requested and the original scene repeats itself as three more teams join the first two at the scene. Emergency personnel work to disentangle patients from the wreckage of the vehicles. One patient is in full traumatic arrest. Three emergency medical workers operate together to intubate the patient and start IVs while they perform CPR and set up the defibrillator, while simultaneously searching for the patients identification. The team lifts the patient into the back of the ambulance, and while still compressing the patient's chest, breathing for the patient, administering medications, and defibrillating all in an effort to help this patient avoid death, they speed off to the hospital. The EMTs and paramedics in the back of the ambulance continue their efforts enroute to the hospital while the ambulance ricochets off bumps and the workers are bounced all around the back of the vehicle. They finally arrive at the facility where one of the members of the team tells the triage nurse what is happening. They take the patient into a trauma room and lift the patient from their stretcher to the hos...
Paramedics squeeze my arms, staining their gloves a deep red. Doctors and nurses scream at each other as they run across the hallways wheeling me into the operating theatre. I look over to my wrists as clear fluids begin their journey into my veins. My heart is in my throat, my pulse is echoing throughout the room, my limbs are quivering, and my lungs are screaming. Nurses force plastic tubes up my nose, as jets of cold air enter my sinuses, giving me relief. Inkblots dance before my eyes like a symphony of lights. A sudden sleepiness overcomes me and slowly my vision dims.
she always used to wish for a way to escape her life. She saw memories
So there I was, thundering (or carefully maneuvering) my way up Route 9. After a quick stop at the local police station to re-orient myself (as I missed a left turn), I pulled into the small parking lot of the small, two-story, stucco-and-shingled building with an enormous satellite dish on it. I double-checked my questions, made sure my recorder was working, and headed in. I sat in the small waiting area as the secretary went to fetch Simon. Palms sweaty, I rubbed them on my jeans to calm myself and let out a little nervous energy.
A gentleman motioned to us that he had finished and was going to leave. Dan got the pump number and went into the store to pay for the gas. As the car pulled away I began to pull Dan's car up to the pump when all of a sudden, this van come screeching around from the opposite direction, trying to get to the pump before me. I stepped on it and the driver of the van slammed on his brakes. I continued until I was j...
First, Shapiro initiates by describing the efficient and fast-approaching ambulance to the place of the wrack-up. He starts with a “soft” allusion to death and life when he compares the sound of the siren to a heart “beating, beating”, and the lights of the ambulance to blood “pulsing out” of “an artery”. When the ambulance arrives to the place of the incident the doors open and light comes out, which was a way for the author to give a fleeting hope of life in the chaotic scene of the accident, and then takes it away when he describes the condition in which the victims were put inside the ambulance when he says “the mangled lifted.. And stowed into the little hospital”. Shapiro gives the impression of the inevitable presence of death when he says: “Then the bell, .., tools once”, like the ...
Suddenly I awake at the noise of sirens and people yelling my name. Where am I? Those words radiate out my thoughts but never touching my lips. Panic engulfs me, but I am restricted to the stretcher. “Are you ok?” said the paramedic. I am dazed, confused, and barely aware of my surroundings. Again “Yes, I am fine” races from my thoughts down to my mouth, but nothing was heard. Then, there was darkness.
The teachers come, a large man begins CPR while the girl remains benevolent, in a matronly position, kneeling and cradling Al’s head in the cushion of her palms. Through it all she does not look up, even when spurts of blood from Al’s mouth reach her face and eyes, that blood built up within his orifice gurgling and geysering with each push of the teacher’s fists into his lungs. She does not turn from her grisly heroic task, though her arms shake from restraining and then supporting Al’s head, as she calmly reassures others that it will be all right. After seeing Al safely away with the EMTs, she takes only a few moments to collect herself, then, claiming no credit...
Taking a creative writing class was a good way for me to express my thoughts and feelings onto paper, as well as read my other classmates stories. Reading stories created by other people lead me into their mind brain to experience what type of writer they were, it was an overall exquisite class. I believe that every person has a way of expressing who they are through writing stories of their own, fiction is the best way to express your creative imagination. This class that I took for two years helped me become a better writer and helped me understand the types of writers we have.
The reckless driver hit us straight on, then “Bang!” a loud noise resonated through the air, and abruptly my body flew out and hit the pavement of the road. Everything around me was simply a white haze for a few seconds after the impact. My body felt extremely heavy and the sharp pain throbbed throughout my face and body. Lying there on the rough asphalt, I faintly heard my mom and Carrie call out to me, “Sydney! Sydney! Are you okay? Answer me! Sydney!” I wanted I speak up and answer them, nonetheless, it was useless, my voice just wouldn’t make a sound. The desperation in Carrie’s and my mom’s voices reverberated to me across from where I was lying. My mom frantically ran up to my side and hugged me tightly in her arms. Blood was squirting out of her pinky, where the top of her finger had been severed. The places where my mom’s tears fell, stung my wounds, nevertheless, it was nothing compared to each little movements that caused the pains to electrify through my body severely. Every second was hell, the pain was just utterly agonizing and tormenting. Whether it was due to the pain or the exhaustion my body suffered, my mind slowly drifted off and I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. As my eyes gradually closed, the blazing siren seemed to have grown louder little by