Where's My Bloody Knife

A train is coming. I can see its light out to my right.

My stalled car sits across twin rails of potential destruction. A horn blares. A light blinds.

My seat belt buckle is jammed – or maybe I’m too scared and fumbling. No matter, I’m screwed if I don’t do something.

Train – two hundred yards and closing. Frantically it blows its horn.


Metal crumples. Glass shatters. I am violently lifted upwards and tossed into a shallow trackside pond.

I’m not dead.

Seat belt still won’t open.

I am sinking – water’s pouring in.

Where’s my bloody knife? I need it to cut my seat belt!

Water rises over my face. Everything is wet and dark.

Nothing now but black, and now white.

Beep. Beep.

Bloody Hell! I am in hospital.

“A man rescued you,” Nurse McGregor says.

I am grateful to him, but I should go now.

Wait a minute. I am strapped down. I can’t get up.

Nurse," I call out. “Where’s my bloody knife.”

She laughs maniacally, her face twisted.

And I realize in horror – I am in Hell.

Bloody, bloody hell.

View this story's 6 comments.