The 13th Pillar

Princess Diana (Born Diana Frances Spencer) died on 31 August 1997, in a car accident in the Pont de I ‘Alma road tunnel in Paris, while trying to escape from the paparazzi. The princess was loved by the people, and her death affected people from all over the world. Diana is the protagonist in this short story. The story is based on the truth, but every emotion, thought and a lot of the details are only fictional.

The wheels under our Mercedes were almost spinning faster than my heart was beating. The sound of a struggling engine combined with my heavy breath filled the air, and the driver was not going to slow down. I saw the reflection of his face in the front window, but I wish I had not seen his fright in his eyes. I wish I had not seen all the red veins. And, for a split second, I wish I was not Princess Diana.

Faster.

I looked at my hands in disgrace as they began to shake. I felt the engraved letters of my birth name under my fingers while I nervously twisted my silver bracelet around my wrist. I could not stand feeling like this. I could not stand feeling like I needed to be saved, like if I was not able to protect myself. The last thing I would ever do would be to fall prey to society’s desire to make every woman become an emotional insecure neurotic, who needs someone else in her life to be able to stand straight, to survive. I was always on the run, always escaping. But, I was not going to cry. I was not going to cry.

Faster.

The paparazzi got closer by the second. The sharp lights from their motorbikes prevented me from looking back at them. I had to keep looking forward, into eyes made of fright and flashing streetlights. The dream of Paris had turned into a nightmare. A nightmare I could not escape. How did our perfect plan bring us to a point where we could no longer breathe?

Faster.

We had reached the entrance of an underpass. The adrenalin rushing through my body made it difficult for me to realize the rising amount of bad decisions that had been made the past thirty minutes. I tried to focus on the underpass in front of us, and resist the urge to look at the driver, but I could not help myself. His eyes looked like red warning signs, and small drops of sweat had begun to drip down his right cheek. He turned his head to the bodyguard who sat next to him, and opened his mouth like if he was going to say something. I will forever wonder what he was about to say, because the driver had unknowingly lost control of the Mercedes the second his eyes left the road.

Faster.

I tried to scream, but my mouth felt like it was full of sand. The car swerved to the left of the two-lane carriageway. The driver tried to regain the control of the steering wheel, but we were going too fast. We were heading towards one of the pillar supporting the roof, and a million thoughts kept rushing through my mind, all at once.

This could not be the end.

Where is my seatbelt?

I can`t reach my seatbelt.

I don’t have time.

The pillar is inevitable.

I closed my eyes. It felt like a million years of holding my breath, but the Mercedes needed less than a heartbeat to reach the pillar. I opened my eyes again.

Help me.

Silence.

http://www.theguardian.com/uk/2008/apr/07/paparazzi

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_of_Diana,_Princess_of_Wales#Crash

http://www.biography.com/people/princess-diana-9273782

#LadyDi #Paris