2 Works (comment on both if you can)

The Ice

By Jonah Petruic

                I don’t know why I’m retelling this story; I hate remembering it and continue to have nightmares about it. It is by far the time I’ve been the saddest and angriest I have ever felt. I’m sorry, I’m trying to stall the story, but you have to understand: I really don’t like telling it! No one should ever experience this ever! And what makes it even harder to tell is that it was very much preventable. A life could have been saved and yet, a girl lost her life that day. She couldn’t have been any older than 16 and now she’s dead, all because….well, maybe I should tell you about that day.

                I live alone in Southern Edmonton, Alberta and every day I’d walk across the Saskatchewan River to get to work; even in -40®C I would toughen up and make my way to work in the harsh winds.  I had walked the same route so often that I wouldn’t need to think about where I was going; I could think about what needed to be done for the day and who I needed to speak to (if anyone). My route included walking across the 105^th street Bridge and then walking through Queen Elizabeth Park along the river. It was there that the tragedy occurred, while I was walking home. I reached the bridge and decided to stop and take a breath. It was snowing and the river was near completely covered in ice. The week before, it was rather warm, causing some of the snow and ice to melt, but then the weather turned and once again the city became blanketed in snow. I stood there, looking into the horizon, envying my family in Calgary and the warm weather they were getting. I longed for summer again so I could walk along the park without worrying of being late and enjoy where I was. I never knew that this moment would forever haunt me.

                I first heard a scream, then a splash. I snapped out of my fantasy and looked around. I saw nothing except a medium sized hole in the ice and signs that the water had been disturb. A girls head popped up and shook, as she reached and grabbed the each of the hole. I was stunned and glued to the sidewalk, unable to move. I looked to see if a police officer was around or if someone nearby had seen what happened. She cried for help as she tried to keep herself afloat. Each time she grabbed the edge, the ice would break off and her head would sink below the surface. No one was helping her; they walked on by and paid no attention. She desperately screamed for help as her strength weakened. I couldn’t believe it; people were letting this girl die. I was letting this girl die! I ran back the way I came and down towards the river, not fearing for my own safety. I felt a man grab my arm and pull me back.

                “Are you crazy?” he bellowed in a thick Russian accent, “You could fall through too!”

                “She’ll drown!” I yelled, “Call an ambulance!” But instead, the man shrugged.

                “Someone else probably called. I don’t want no trouble and I have places to be.” He said. I looked at him in shock.

                Who is he to say that? I thought. I turned and ran back onto the ice towards the girl, who was no longer visible. I collapsed to my knees, took off my jacket and plunged my hand into the water. A burning pain shot up my arm as the frozen water attacked it. Another man ran and knelt next to me.

                “Oh god,” he said, “Are we too late?”

                “Call 911, please!” I begged. The man took out his cell phone and immediately dialled. I twisted my arm around and around, but I could not find her. She was gone. I removed my arm from the river and gasped as the pain intensified. It felt like hours before emergency crews arrived. They ran towards use and two divers jumped through the hole. A police officer lead my colleague and I off the ice and back up to the bridge. I was sat in the back of a police car and told to wait so I could make a statement of what happened. Another officer came and handed a cup of coffee to me.

                “What you did was brave,” he said, but I shook my head.

                “I stood and watched,” I said.

                “But you’re the only one who did anything, apart from the other fellow,” the officer said. I hung my head and began to sob. I felt horrible and useless. The officer placed his hand on my shoulder and said something, but I wasn’t listening; I was too deep in thought.

                How could anyone just stand there or walk by? How could someone think that he has more important things to do than call for help?

                I learned later that out of the two of us who did something, there were over 100 witnesses who stood and watched or walked by, ignoring the girls cries. The girl’s body was found 2 days later, frozen on the shore down river a few km. I never found out her name. The Russian man tried to speak to me after the incident, but I left before he could catch up; nothing he can say will ever grant him my forgiveness or give me an understanding of his behaviour. The man who stepped in to help me left long before I did. I haven’t heard from him since, but hope I do sometime. In the winter, I drive to work. I no longer care for the air in my lungs or the exercise, because I think about now is the girl who died and how it could have been prevented. She was murdered by the stares of those who chose to look on and by the ears of those who chose to ignore her. Now, her spirit remains in the bottom of the river, trapped in the dark and cold.

Of Loss
Note: I have one major strength that is also one of my biggest drawbacks: I’m very empathetic.  I decided to write this after my friends cats died, both within one week of each other. This poem is a mixture of her feelings towards loss and my feelings of uselessness to help her in the situation, because, let’s face it; there’s no way anyone else can help to cheer someone up in this situation. Out of all the poems I have written, this and another titled The World I Made are the ones filled with the most emotion. Though these may not be how I feel at the present time, it is me remembering the times I used to feel this way.

I can’t count all the times that I’ve cried with my hand,

Because the feeling of loneliness is something I understand;

Being ignored or forgotten, it happens all the time,

Because the mountain of life is a lonely place to climb.

We once had toys that we played with all day,

Now lie in a landfill and have turned to grey;

They once made children laugh and sing,

But now they no longer do a god damn thing.

There’s no longer a forest behind that hill,

The trees were hacked apart in the lumber mill;

 And now the river nearby is either shallow or dried,

And the fish have shrivelled up and died.

I used to know people I’d see every day,

We vowed “Best friends to the end we’ll stay,”

But now they all think I’m worse than dirt,

And cause my stomach and heart to hurt.

And I can’t forget to mention all the romance,

How way back in school I’d ask the girls to dance;

And then a week later they’d find another boy,

And said I was just a decoy.

As I am 18 now I think to myself,

What’s the point in being popular, what’s the point in wealth;

It never brought me happiness, just regret and hurt,

And all sorts of burdens placed upon my shirt.

I lost a lot I cared for because I went the wrong way,

Instead of being good my life went astray;

I too ignored and forgot precious things,

And feel like I have lost my wings.

Unfortunately it was all unavoidable,

Because we take precious things to be undesirable.

We must learn empathy or we’ll lose our way

And forever we’ll regret that fateful day

Of loss, I must say it’s a horrible taunt,

Of loss, I must say it’s will always haunt;

Of loss, I must say it's a terrable cursed,

Of loss, I must say it makes you feel the worst.