The world did not come to an end with a loud sound. The world came to an end for me with the screeching tires on wet streets and the fading smell of jasmine perfume.
At the age of seven, the power went out in the world. I can still recall sitting in the back seat of our car, hugging tightly to a little pink bear my mother got me as a birthday gift. My father was at the wheel singing a song whose melody I cannot recall now, and my mother laughed. She wore a red scarf—a vivid crimson against the drizzle outside.
"Don't be afraid, Sarah," she said gently, turning to wink at me. "It rains in order to make room for the blossoming flowers the next day."
I believed her. At the time, I was a dreamer anyway.
Then, the glare of the headlights! The deafening sound of metal hitting metal. That awful silence that was more terrible than the noise of the rain! My hand still reached out but it shook in fear because there was no more heart beating. The smell of jasmine gave way to that acrid smell of blood.
That was the night I learned how fragile a life could be. That was the night I decided that if I couldn't save them, I would spend the rest of my life saving everyone else.
Now, I am fifteen.
My house is so tiny that the walls seem to always lean in on me, ready to tell tales of my failures. I walk around the hallways of my home like a specter, trying not to get in the way of Uncle Levi's clumsy steps and the lingering odor of whiskey that trails behind him. I do my best during the day to be the model niece and at night try to care for Aunt Lia as she battles her way out of the depths of depression.
I am an all-A student.They see me as only a shy girl in a dusty kitchen. They do not see the books about medicine stashed under my bed. They do not see the flame within me, burning bright and defiantly red.
The storm is still raging, but I am no longer afraid of the rain. I am Sarah, and I am learning how to heal.