The scream that left Sweetheart's breast was deafening. Her shoulder crashed into the wall with such force that not only did it dislocate, it tore through her flesh and skin, its pearly bone protruding outside of her body. Even amidst the churn of the sea, she could see her own blood draining out of her.

Her left arm was useless. She could no longer feel it and she certainly could not move it. Her head ached and throbbed. If not for the abundant amount of hair that crowned her head and cushioned the impact to her skull when she hit the wall, she surely would have been unconscious, tumbling beneath the powerful current streaming all around her. She was thankful for her modest vanity. It proved to be a blessing and in her predicament, she needed every blessing she could get.

Pushing through the various areas of pain that stabbed her throughout her feminine form, Sweetheart focused on the imperative task at hand. Though she had stopped traveling down stream, the wave was actively pulling her away from the hospital entrance. She had not moved beyond the center of the wall to the point where the current stopped pulling her out and the diverting columns pulled her in. She had to move. If she was going to get to safety, she could not stay where she was. But, with two sisters and only one arm, that was easier said than done.

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