[ WP ] Secure your own mask first before helping others .

The crash ahead of us jolted me awake. It was a thunderous cacophony of screeching tires, honking cars and a brief moment of silence that hung in the air for just a little too long, before I heard the sound of metal colliding against metal and wailing siren-like screams erupting from all around me. 
 
 
 I had nestled into the empty back seat of Andrew ’ s car and apparently dozed off, by the looks of it. Andrew was my best friend. His wife Emily and he had insisted on driving me down to San Diego that weekend. They were looking out for me, after all. “ I ’ m very sorry, but you ’ re going to be a nervous wreck throughout the drive ”, he had said to me. “ You and I, we ’ ve been through thick and thin, man. I won ’ t let you drive alone, no way. ” 
 
 They were right, of course. I had received news that my daughter and her mom – my lovely, beautiful wife – had been involved in a zip-lining accident. The doctors had had me on the phone a couple of hours after the incident, and through their grave tone of voice, I was informed that the prognosis was not likely to be good. A flesh wound apparently, complicated by bacterial infection for my wife, and blunt force trauma for my sweet, darling little daughter. Their chances of survival were pretty low. I was devastated. 
 
 
 Luckily, we were driving far enough behind the crash that Andrew was able to brake in time. Flames engulfed the two cars, swallowing them in a fiery blaze. We ran out onto the freeway and got as close as we could to the smoldering wreckage without the fire or the smoke directly affecting us. 
 
 “ Help….!! Please! help.. ” 
 
 I heard muffled screams from underneath one of the overturned vehicles. Andrew and I fought through the smoke as we tried to get closer, peering in through the windows. A young girl, who could not have been much older than my daughter, was struggling to unbuckle her seatbelt in the rear passenger seat, crying and flailing helplessly as she did. Her mother, I assumed, had been locked in place through a twisted seatbelt mechanism, unconscious and bleeding heavily, while still in the driver ’ s seat. The situation did not look good. 
 
 The image hit me hard. 
 
 Andrew looked over at me. “ You don ’ t have to be here! There are others around. Go back! ” He yelled at me, and I complied. I ran back towards our car, coughing, eyes watering, with a choking sensation gripping my dry, parched throat. 
 
 He was right. I didn ’ t have to be there to help him. I couldn ’ t. 

