Unappealing Story

The woman was sprawled in the middle of the lane. Peter Sheperd had to slam the brakes on to avoid running her over. The car stopped with a screech. He cried out with relieve and stared at his trembling hands. Then he thought that there was probably no difference if he had run her over or not. The woman seemed to be dead already. She was lying motionless on her side, her legs wide apart in an unnatural position. Dark blond lock of hair was hanging over the left part of her face. Peter fixed his gaze on her, trying to see some sign of life in her. There was none. For a brief moment he considered leaving her there and just heading home. The thought dissolved in these thoughts that followed. He reluctantly opened the door and got out of the car. His knees were surprisingly stiff, his feet felt as if made of rubber. He took a deep breath and walked to the body.

There wasn't much blood. In fact, as much as he could see, only her left thigh was smeared with dried blood. Her eyes were partially closed, as if she was lost in reverie. The unnatural paleness of her face could not hide her beauty. She was very young, maybe in her early twenties. Peter wondered what she had been doing in this wilderness. Then, he saw her ruined bike in the ditch and sighed. His eyes were drawn by her long shapely legs. They were spread out in a grotesquely seductive way. Her left sneaker was missing; her white sock was pulled down, revealing part of her rosy heel. The thing that disturbed Peter the most was the way her short skirt was pulled up around her waist, and the fact that her panties were not completely covering what they were supposed to cover. He looked aside and wondered what to do. And realized that he hadn't checked if she was really dead. Judging by what he had seen so far, it seemed quite unbelievable that she could be alive. Despite that, he kneeled beside her. In this moment, the woman emitted a guttural sound. Peter's heart missed a beat. He flinched back and his face turned red. Her eyelids were fluttering wildly and she was struggling to breathe.

Peter had never felt so helpless in his life. He just didn't know what to do. The poor woman needed help, but he could do nothing.

"Do you hear me, Miss?" he asked.

The woman coughed a couple of times, then her blue eyes focused on him uncomprehendingly.

"Please, help me!" she whispered pleadingly.

Peter looked around at the deserted road and cursed.

"I will have to carry you to the car."

The woman didn't give a sign whether she understood what she was told. She just moaned and fluttered her eyelids again. Her breathing came back to normal.

"Please take my hand! I don't want to die alone."

Peter took her hand and pulled her skirt down over her legs. Her eyes were staring at him, but he wasn't sure that she was actually seeing him.

"I have never thought that this could happen to me," she said and shuddered.

"I have to carry you..."

She nodded. Peter took her under her armpits and prepared to lift her. Her features contorted with excruciating pain at the slightest movement he made.

"Nooooooooo!"

Peter laid her down again.

"Leave me, please. I can't bear it. I think I have a lot of broken bones."

"Can you wiggle your toes?"

"I am not really sure if I can move any part of my body at all. I am so scared."

Peter's eyes filled with tears. His determination to help her grew. He took off his sweater, then placed it under her head and tenderly caressed her cheek.

"Just lay still, dear! I am not going to leave you alone," he said and looked desperately at the road.

Her breathing got labored again. Her eyes became glazed and unfocused.

"Oh God, I can't breathe. My ribs hurt so much."

Peter leant over, put his lips on her mouth, and tried to inhale life in her dying body. In this moment, she giggled.

"Sorry, man. It was just an experiment," she said.

Peter blinked and stood up. A man was running toward them, carrying a camera.

"Perfect, perfect! You are great, Molly!" the man cried cheerfully.

Molly got up on her feet and dusted off her skimpy clothes.