I have a difficulty in choosing the best from my past 100, they were good, in my opinion, original you can call it, I could not change anything from them, this is personally one of the posts that performed at a mediocre level, and can be rewritten to achieve a better feel. Enjoy!

For the original post : Above, Solo.

Beating the odds, I was standing below the spinning blades of the helicopter, “Jane. Ready?” the chopper talked through the earpieces, I posed a thumbs up, “Don’t lose your crap, again.” he knew what he was talking about, serenading the ubiquitous trauma that was ravaging inside me ever since the dreadful experience.

I was the S.O.S. responder, more like a God-sent saviour, highly paid, professionally trained, and the only female in the team, but had zero failures in executing tasks, until the previous misfortune, losing my victim to a unprecedented landslide, almost lost mine too. Feeling blessed, only a few fractured bones and torn muscles were the consequence of my misjudgement.

That misfortune flung me straight into the depths of trauma, snowballing inside an ever growing cavity of darkness that wrapped me tightly, not letting me catch a breath when I was at heights, dreaming about the same horrid face of despondency of the victim that I failed to save, her face was caked with blood, distorted nose, decapitated body parts, lacerated subcutaneously everywhere on her, like a war-torn victim, whom I failed to save.

The enormous burden was taken up by me, involuntarily. I, felt, my shoulders, my heart, my soul could not bear the weight anymore, I took my job too seriously. The risks were inevitable, the probability of saving was below marginal, yet I managed to pull out a clean sheet throughout my career until this point, I should have accoladed myself, but I led myself into dire straits, that was purely idiotic.

As I stared out of the aperture of the helicopter, I identified the position of the victim, locked him down, redirected my mind back on track without being hindered by the trauma. Relentlessly, I had to put up with it, but, I could not, I was being seized by it again, my knees turned into jelly.

“Jane.” I heard, “JANE!” the chopper burst into my ears, “Be strong.” I was sinking deeper into my own creation, the murky mires of dissolved grit.

“JANE!” the voice pounded me once more, “It is never too late to save… at least you tried.” something clicked inside me, I was furious.

“How dare you say I tried!? I put my fucking life on the line to save the soul that I never knew, every, single, fucking, time!” I shouted back into the earphones, and tore it out of me.

I dived down with everything that I got, resolved, to save.

Calling

Craving for more? Down below:
Losing Touch with Originality
I’m Sorry.
400
Drowning in Numbers
Broken Lens #Finale
Five Shots, One Message.
Limiting Creativity?
Immeasurable

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