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FIRST WAKING UP:

My view upon first opening my eyes was like that through the windshield. It was slanted and cracked with only bits and pieces coming through, like; my mother sobbing brokenly in the chair beside my bed with streams of mascara running from tear filled eyes as she dabbed at them uselessly with a crumpled Klenax she held in a shaking hand, the continuious beeping of the heart machine positioned directly to my left, and the T.V. above my bed that was flicked to the scene of accident as reporters talked about how terrible it had been and how many survivors there were, including myself.
I did not see my father seated on the other side of my mother or even that there was nurse messing with my injuried leg. No, I did not see any of that. Those things were lost between the cracks of the shield, and only later would I realize that these cracks and slivers had not only affected my eyes at that moment, but something else as well.