Page 29 - Julie Thorley Nine Lives book

6. The Practical Samaritan
The speaker, a young man in his twenties, is painfully thin, shabbily dressed and grubby. He wears an air of defeat.
I hadn’t really considered quite how much it was going to hurt if I didn’t die. The plan, if I can call it that, was to step off the pavement and let the oncoming traf c solve all my problems. But I misjudge it, and in a moment’s hesitation I give the driver time to see me, and to brake and swerve. There is even time
for us to lock eyes before she clips me and sends me ying. I wonder if she can see the disappointment. I know even before I hit the ground that I’ve failed.
I don’t think I pass out completely, but the world is out of focus and I don’t know which way up I am. As I land, a lightning bolt of pain shoots up my left leg and nausea ebbs and ows. There seems to be a commotion around me. Someone screams and there is a lot of shouting, but I can’t hear the traf c. I can smell something like hot metal. I try to right myself, but my hands slip on the gravel and there is no strength in my arms.
Gradually my vision becomes clearer. Someone is holding my shoulders and talking to me. I ease my head round to look. ‘Don’t try to move,’ she says. ‘Can you hear me? Can you
tell me your name?’ I look at her dumbly.
She calls over her shoulder. ‘I need some help here! You in
the grey hoody: stop taking photos on your phone and use it to call for an ambulance. Tell them a man in his twenties has been hit by a van, that he’s conscious, but that there is a lot of blood. When you’ve done that, come and tell me what they say.’
I don’t know who this woman is, but she has a strong voice 25