A Moment Of Helplessness: The Rescuer's Monologue
What is it like to be the person beside them, trying to help but only halfway able to intervene?
It is like reaching for a rope that has already snapped—your fingertips brush against a warm wrist, yet you watch helplessly as it slips away.
The air still carries that fleeting sense of hope: the chest rising with breath, the shouted cries, muscles straining with all their strength. But in the next instant, that force is suddenly sucked away, leaving only the icy emptiness in your palm.
Thunderous sounds ring in your ears, as if all noise has been pulled far away; the frantic shouts of rescue echo and shatter into a piercing silence upon landing.
The nose is filled with the acrid scent of disinfectant mixed with the iron tang of blood, pressing down on the throat like rusted metal.
You instinctively replay it over and over: Did you hesitate for a second? Would a different grip have saved them? These thoughts slice through your mind like shards of glass, over and over.
On the outside, you may freeze in place, as if hollowed out, chest still carrying the aching tension of having given your all, but with nowhere to release it.