What Was is No Longer

Title: What was, is now no longer
Author: CarolWarning: No spanking, A Top getting the wits scared out of him 
All mistakes are mine sorry.
Written for the March 2011 Tea Room Challenge

Traffic was at a dead stop; someone said there had been a bad accident at the intersection. I parked my car where I could, and got my medical bag. I figured that since I am a doctor, I might be able to help out. I got out of the car, and walked half a block, and saw total chaos all around; one car was on its side in the middle of the intersection. A police officer was trying to keep the foot traffic away from the area, and I could smell gas and hot oil. I showed him my medical work tag, and he let me through. When I saw the car that was smashed into the light pole, my heart stopped in mid-beat! I knew that car! The thought of me helping went out the window; I needed to find the driver of that car. The blood on the windshield made me sick to my stomach. I stopped another officer, and told him who I was looking for. He gave me a worried look, and pointed to a small group of people. The person I was looking for was sitting on the grass by a wall. He was holding a yellow shock blanket around him tightly, and had a blood-soaked bandage taped to his forehead; he looked as white as cotton.

I asked the EMT his status, and was told that he was very lucky that all he got was a few cuts and burses; those old cars don't have the safety stuff the newer ones have. The driver looked up at me, as tears started to fall, and his bottom lip did the little quiver thing it does. He gave me a weak smile, and held out his arms, as I dropped to my knees, and gently pulled him to me. I held him in my arms, and, as his head rested on my shoulder, all I could do was whisper softly in his ear that he was fine and alive; everything would be okay. His body was shaking, and because he could no longer hold onto his emotions, he let them out.

"I'm sorry about the car," he told me.

The car. I'd forgotten all about the car. I looked over at it. My mint condition `63 corvette convertible was no longer what it once was; it was now just a hunk of twisted metal.

"It's just a car," I told him, giving him a kiss to the forehead.

End.