0: Albert Einstein once explained that time is relative. In the case Emily Bell, who was 24 years, 3 month, 23 days, 16 hours and 34 minutes old at her time of death, this couldn't be more true. The collision of her car and the car of Gregory Fields took only milliseconds. The entire car crushed around her like a tin can, pushing her body to the breaking point. She was trapped between metal and pavement, desperately trying to claw her way out.
20 seconds: Gregory sat behind the wheel of his car in silence, watching the woman he loved, his princess, with stony indifference.
45 seconds: Time slowed to a crawl for Emily. The pain of tears stinging her eyes was nothing compared to the agony her body was in. Everything, even her littlest toes, seemed to be alive with pain. She could feel nothing else but the weight of her thoughts and memories and the excruciating pain. She didn't know how she would survive this pain, if there was even a chance.
60 seconds: Her twins. That was all Emily could think about. All thought of her parents, Carter, the people she would leave behind if she did end up dying were nothing compared to her children. They'd been a blessing delivered at the worst possible time. That didn't stop them from being the most wonderful things that had ever happened to her. Gracie, who was already rebellious at only 18 months old, and Noah, the sweetest little boy she'd ever met. They were everything to her, and she couldn't imagine a life without them.
70: Emily could hear her heartbeat in her ears. It was slow, and growing fainter by the minute. Her breaths were labored, and movement was severely inhibited by the jagged metal cage she was in. Everything was starting to fade around the edges, and what she could still see was becoming fuzzy. A low moan of protest escaped her lips, and she was vaguely aware of sirens in the distance. She begged them to come faster, to give her time to see her children before it all ended.
75: She was coughing up blood. It felt like she'd been trapped for a year, slowly having the life sucked out of her, even though she knew it couldn't have been more than a couple minutes. The sirens had grown louder, and the tiniest shred of hope had made home in her heart. She repeated Gracie and Noah's name like a mantra, willing their presence to push the darkness away.
80: It was beginning to get cold. So, so, cold. The pain that had previously been red-hot in her veins was beginning to be chilled by the icy hand of death. Still, Emily clung to life. She knew that it was a useless endeavor - the chances of her surviving were slim to none - but she wasn't willing to let the twins live without their mother.
90: She couldn't hear her heart anymore. Just the faint sounds of too-far-away sirens. Her fingertips were icy, her body shook. Hope had been smother, like a rose shrouded with frost. She saw that there was no point in fighting on, no point in continuing the struggle against something so inevitable, yet unplaceable. With one last thought of Gracie and Noah, her entire family back home and in San Diego, Emily let her life end with not a bang, but a whimper.
