The Crash

The Crash


DAY 0 (Prelude)

      The first sense that came back to Mason was smell; the burning rubber and smoke wafted into his mind singly, before being joined by the sound of whirring sirens and pounding rain. Moments later, he felt the gearstick pushing into his abdomen, searing pain passing over him, forcing him to grimace. After moments which seemed like hours, he opened his eyes, as smashed glass, crushed metal and ripped leather danced over them. His car had been hit.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a lone man step towards his car and peer at him through the broken window. He just managed to catch the name Jeff on his Ambulance nametag before he felt the weight of his head pull him down, and everything returned to black.



DAY 1 (Awakening)

      Hours later, Mason found himself in a dark room. Stark white tiles lined the floor, contrasting the dull blue of the walls. He felt the hardness of the cheap mattress beneath him and knew where he was almost instantly—the hospital. He reached for his head to find his left arm in a sling, his right covered with bruises. Wincing, he lifted his head up before catching eye of a shadowy figure slumped over a nearby table. Squinting, he looked at the figure for several short moments before letting out a quiet “Hello?” His voice was strained, tired and dry. The figure jolted before reaching for a nearby light switch.
“Mason, you’re okay! Oh my God, you have no idea how worried I was…”
The dim light of the lamp cast an even glow across Rebecca’s soft features, her light brown hair flowing to one side.
“Do you remember …what happened?” she said, tilting her head to one side inquisitively.
Mason had been with Rebecca for three years. They had met in Mason’s senior year at college, and fell madly in love.
“Crash…a car crash…I hit a streetlight…” As he spoke, his mind began to turn over the events that had unfolded moments before the collision. A loud noise—a siren?—and a bright light. He caught a glimpse of it, saw the brownish sign, strained to read it—
“Mason? Mason!”
He snapped back to consciousness. “Your left arm was wrecked with glass… took them an hour and a half to remove it all. They say you’ll be fine though.” Mason strained a smile, but Rebecca continued to stare. “But… They said you suffered a really nasty bump to the head. They’re going to do more tests, but it should be okay.”
         Rebecca stood up, looking down at Mason for several moments before giving him a soft kiss on the forehead. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”



DAY 2 (Recovery)

         Mason sighed as he looked down at his scuffed watch. 12:03. Stretching his neck, he turned left down Blackwest St, breathing in the cool, autumn air. He looked up and the browning trees above, watching a single leaf snap under its own weight and float to the hard concrete below. He stood there for a moment, thinking how lucky he was to be here, feeling the cool breeze whip past him, hearing the banter of neighbors next door, watching the cars zip by. It was moments like this that he took for granted. Since the accident, everything seemed so much more important, more significant. He could find symmetry and meaning even in the healing wounds on his hands. But this left Mason unsettled. People were supposed to be traumatized, horrified after a brush with death as close as his. And yet all Mason could feel was respect, complete appreciation for all he had been granted.
         He turned into his driveway, taking a moment to admire its newfound importance. At that moment, a police car sped behind him, its sirens ringing through his head, getting louder, forcing him to grab his head as inexplicable pain passed over him. He let out a yell, crouching over as things around him began to fade, before—
“Mason! Are you okay?”
Just as fast as the episode had began, it washed away. He looked up to find Rebecca’s horrified eyes stuck to him, aghast.
“Yeah, I just… I don’t know. The sirens…”
“The doctor said you might experience some psychological problems,” she said, grabbing his hand. “I’ll book you in with Dr. Schreiber right away.”



DAY 3 (Triggers)

         “The doctor’s ready to see you, Mr. Bridges,” the receptionist called, pulling Mason from the enthralling edition of New Weekly he had been occupying himself with for the last fifteen minutes. Lifting himself from the worn chair, he walked down the corridor to Dr. Schreiber’s office, the doctor’s aging face smiling at him from behind his desk. Mason caught eye of a black cat purring in the corner of the room, staring back at him with an intense gaze. Schreiber was definitely an eccentric.
“Ah, Mason. I’m glad you came. Rebecca told me you weren’t so open to the idea of seeing a—”
“A shrink? No, not really. I’ve never really seen the point of spending a hundred-and-twenty dollars an hour to unload all my troubles onto a stranger.”
“But you know this is different, don’t you? That crash did quite a number on you, and not just physically, I imagine. Please, have a seat.”
He gestured towards a small sofa in the corner of the room, and Mason followed, letting himself sink into the leathery, black surface.
“Tell me about the, uh… incident that happened yesterday,” he said, pulling out a yellow notepad and scrawling fixedly.
“Well, I don’t remember exactly. Everything was normal, and then a police car went by. Its sirens were going, and things just started… started going black. All I could hear were those sirens, pounding inside my head. And then it all just went away, as quickly as it came.”
Dr. Schreiber watched for a moment before looking back down at his notepad and scrawling some more. “I see,” he said, moving his eyes back to him. “I think that’s a trigger, Mason. In your head. It’s left an impression on your mind, from the accident, and the car just triggered it. I can’t really prescribe you with anything now, but I’d like to see you tomorrow. We’ll go for a similar time, let’s say…”
He glanced up at the antique clock in the corner. 12:02. “…Twelve o’clock?”
“Yeah, that should be fine. I’m only working a half-day tomorrow.”
Mason got up to leave. “Nice cat, by the way. What’s its name?” His eyes fell onto the corner where the cat had been. It was gone.
“What cat?”



DAY 4 (Sirens)

         Gripping his briefcase tightly, Mason pushed 4 on the elevator, sighing quietly as the lift sprung to life. Just another day at the office. Since the incident outside his house, things had changed for Mason. The moment had played over in his head again and again, that feeling of complete solitude, emptiness, paired with the debilitating sirens.
         The lift stopped, and the rustic doors screeched apart, exposing a small banner stuck up above reception, reading ‘Welcome Back Mason!’ Looking down, he was greeted with the smiling faces of Francis Accounting.
“Hi, Mason! Hope you’re doing okay!”
“Yeah buddy, couldn’t get out of too much work, could you, ‘ey?” Gary winked, nudging him aggressively.
“Anything we can get for you, Mason?”
“Actually, I’d really love a cup of coffee,” he said, glancing towards the kitchen, “but I’ll get it myself.”
         Walking to the hall, he passed his desk, finding seven or eight cards and a box of chocolates lying next to his computer. He stepped into the kitchen, grabbing the old, yellowing jug and filling it to the brim. He flicked the switch, watching the orange light with an intense gaze. He stood there for a moment as the distinctly familiar smell of smoke wafted into his nose.
“Hey Gary, did you leave the toaster on? Something’s burning,” he asked, keeping his eyes on the glowing orange light.
“No, the toaster’s broken. Like pretty much everything else in here.”
As the switch flicked off, he snapped around. Gary was nowhere to be found. Mason stood there for a moment—he must have stepped out. Mason turned back to watch the granules of instant coffee dissolve into the searing hot water.
He made his way to the desk, resting back into the leather chair, closing his eyes, the hum of the computer flowing into his ears as he drifted into a calming trance. In an instant, the humming stopped, and he opened his eyes. The lights were off.
“My computer shut off, did we just have a power outage?” No response. “Hello?”
Slowly, he got up, moving out of his cubicle. The office was empty. “Hello!?” Then he heard them. Sirens. They were quiet at first, a soft buzz in the distance, instantly recognizable against the silent backdrop.
         He moaned in pain as the sirens got louder, drilling deeper into Mason’s mind. He fell to the ground as they got louder, his screaming flowing in unison with the piercing sound. That feeling of complete isolation, of darkness surrounding him came back, tightening its grip on his mind before he couldn’t resist anymore—
“Mason, get up!”
He opened his eyes to find the buzzing glow of the florescent light staring back at him.
“Are you okay?” Derek had a look of terror burnt onto his face. “You just fell to the floor, screaming… Maybe you should go home.”
Mason sank his head into his hand. “Yeah. I’ve got an appointment anyway.” He turned to walk out before twisting back around. “Oh, but before I go, I’ve got to give Gary this disk. He’s been pestering me for it for weeks.”
Derek stared at him, confused. “Gary’s not in today. He had a wedding in Geese Hill this week; I thought he would’ve told you?”
“What? But I saw him right… Never mind.”
Mason muttered softly as he stepped back into the old, rustic elevator, closing his eyes as he pushed the large button labeled Basement.

      “It happened again.”
“Another episode?” Dr. Schreiber looked at him intently, only breaking his gaze to scrawl on his notepad once more.
“Yeah. At work this time. It’s not just the sirens either. I keep seeing things.” Mason stood up. “I swear they’re real, I mean… I see them with my own eyes. But they aren’t there. What’s happening to me, Doc? I don’t even know what’s reality anymore. It’s like my brain is getting some sick pleasure out of screwing with me,” he said, pacing the room.
“Traumatic experiences affect everyone differently, Mason. I think your mind is trying to tell you something. Perhaps you haven’t come to terms with the accident…”
“What is that supposed to mean!? I got knocked out, I’m better now. What terms are there to come to?” The room stayed silent. “I just don’t know what to believe right now. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. How do I even know I’m here, talking to you right now? How do I know I’m not still in hospital?”
Dr. Schreiber watched Mason for a few moments. He did not look down to scrawl any more.
“You can’t know,” he said, keeping his eyes squarely on him. “It’s the fundamental rule of existence. You just can’t know, Mason. All you can be sure of is yourself. Cogito Ergo Sum.”
Mason nodded in understanding. “Descartes. I think, therefore I am.”
“Yes. But is it really worth living like that? You’re alive, Mason, and this… this life is all you know. You’ll only dig yourself deeper if you think like that.” Mason wasn’t so sure.
“Ah, we’ve run out of time, I’m afraid.” Dr. Schreiber looked up at the antique clock once again. 12:01.
“Wait… wasn’t this appointment booked for twelve?”
“No?”



DAY 5 (Crash)

         Mason opened his eyes, scowling at the new day. Another day of insanity. He turned his head, his eyes trailing over Rebecca’s features. She was asleep, so peaceful in contrast to the battlefield of Mason’s mind. He was trapped, confused; the accident and the sirens, those ear-splitting sirens turning over in his brain every waking second. What was happening to him?
         He slowly stepped out of bed, taking care not to wake Rebecca, and walked into the shower. He turned the handle, and as he felt the millions of beads of hot, cleansing water pass over him, he heard Schreiber’s words run through his head over and over. You’re alive, Mason. And this life is all that you know. He was alive. If there was one thing he could be sure of, separate from the disappearing cats, the disappearing people, Mason could be sure he was alive.
         He looked over to see Rebecca start to stir as he reached for his coat.
“Morning… You look handsome. Is that the jacket you bought last week?”
Mason scoffed. “I guess so. I can’t figure out if last night even happened, let alone last week.”
Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?”
“Okay!? No, I’m not okay. I can’t tell real from imaginary anymore. It’s like I’m living this sick, twisted dream all the time and I can’t wake up.” His heart was racing. “I’ve…I’ve got to go.”
“Go where?” She looked worried.
“I’m seeing an old friend.”

         Mason held his coat tighter as cold air swept past him, looking up at the blackish clouds swirling overhead. It wasn’t just going to rain, it was going to pour. He exhaled slowly as he reached Bart’s Coffee Shop, watching tiny droplets of vapor escape his mouth and dissipate into the freezing air. He stopped in front of a rusted old streetlight as the figure of Andrew Bennett came into view. As he walked closer, Mason could see that perpetual smile plastered across his face, unchanged over the many years that had passed.
“Mr. Bennett… It’s been a long time.”
“Please, Mason. Call me Andrew. I’m not your Philosophy teacher anymore. It’s not often I get asked to meet up with one of my ex-students… What did you ask me here for?”
Mason took a moment to inhale, feeling the cool air flow through his lungs. “Well, Andrew, I’ve got a problem. And I figured of all the people I’ve ever known, you’d be the best. What’s your view? On life, on existence? How can you live knowing that you can’t be sure of anything—of your house, of your wife, of your job? How can you stand knowing that it might not all exist?”
Andrew kept his eyes on his, his smile unfaltering. “What’s the time, Mason?”
         Slowly, he looked down at his watch, following the thinnest hand as it ticked over, past the twelve, the three hands in perfect alignment for no more than a second. 12:00.
Mason opened his mouth to speak, only to be cut short by a soft, distant sound. Sirens. He looked up, watching the old streetlight spring to life, its bright glow overpowering everything around it. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you, Mason.”
Freezing air sped past him, forcing his eyes shut as the sky opened up, rain pelting down from the heavens. He opened his eyes to find emptiness, nothing but Andrew, the rain, the light and those wretched sirens.
“What’s happening!?” Mason screamed, crouching over, watching the streetlight glow ever brighter, the sirens scream louder and louder.
“You never left, Mason. None of this ever happened,” yelled Andrew as he fell to the ground, feeling the gearstick push into his abdomen, the crushing of glass and bone, the distinct smell of smoke entering his mind. The solitude, the isolation tightened its grip on Mason as he slipped deeper, further into the dark. All he could see now was the ever-present streetlight, glowing brighter in the infinite black.
“You’re dying Mason. You have been this whole time. It’s all led up to this.”
He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out, the black solitude closing in on him, the sirens bellowing through him.
         Suddenly, he saw the light grow dim, disappear into the endless void as the rain vanished with it, leaving just the whirring sirens as he felt the darkness envelope him, solitude and emptiness clench stronger, before the sirens too began to fade. Before long, the pain had subsided and he was left with nothing more than that feeling of isolation, of emptiness, feeling himself lose grip as he slipped into the endless, eternal abyss of death.