This is a try to write a story some of the facts are real or depict news, the accident was real the only difference was that the driver that caused the death of the boy drove away I don't know if he/she was caught or not.
I have edited this story as it was my first one and the ideas that were in my head gave way to a series of characters and interconnected stories. I have also created a set of rules for my universe that are expressed in https://literotica.com/s/portuguese-crime-reduction-act, anyone that so whises can write using these rules to write his or her own stories.
I appreciate comments as more than stars, it gives me the measure of what reader feel.
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The pulsating music and laughter swirled around me at Coconuts, one of the oldest Cascais nightclubs. My name Is Sofia a teacher by profession and a bride's friend, I found myself amidst the lively bachelorette party. The staff's efficiency and the dancers' talent added to the club's infectious energy.
Despite not being a fan of such events, I was there, indulging in refreshing margaritas and the cool sea breeze. The vastness of the Atlantic Ocean stretched before me, visible beyond the club's lights. Strategically perched seaside at Praia do Tamariz, Coconuts offered a breathtaking vista.
Over the years, friends had tried to set me up, but I, a firm believer in my convictions, remained resolute. My religious background and past experiences had shaped my asexuality. Though I possessed a romantic side, I knew fairytales weren't real. Rejecting all suitors, I opted to drink in the beauty of the seaside night at Coconuts.
My two best friends Carla and Luisa are not like me, Carla flirts openly with the male stripers letting them touch her body and teasing them, while Luisa the bride-to-be, and her work friends watch the strip show, screaming at the strippers laughing and giggling. I Can't understand what attracts them to men, what they expect from them other than a wet spot on the linen, and a sweaty body snoring in their beds. I drink another Marguerita, and then another, just waiting for this flesh festival to end.
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The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the empty rows of pill bottles. Fatigue gnawed at my bones after a grueling 12-hour shift. Being a pharmacist wasn't all it was cracked up to be. Long stretches of tedious counting gave way to bursts of frantic activity, each prescription a life-or-death matter. I yearned for a simple night -- a hot shower, a descent into oblivion.
But my solitary apartment awaited, its silence broken only by the chirping of my two parakeets. My wife, worn down by years of erratic schedules and emotional distance, had taken our daughter and left. My daughter, a young woman already navigating life on her own, visited occasionally, a bittersweet reminder of the life that had slipped through my fingers. At 52, I was a stranger in my own home, adrift in a sea of loneliness.
My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by an impact at the back and another in the face. Something had collided with my car, first at the rear and then at the front. The airbag exploded open in a violent burst... everything happened in fractions of a second.
I tried to feel my fingers and toes; then, I turned my neck and touched my face. My glasses, my glasses were gone I was blind, not blind, but past 5 meters I could not see more than shapes. It's possible that the impact of the airbag broke them, or at least made them jump off my face. I pressed the button to release the seatbelt and opened the car door to see what had happened. In front of me, about 2 or 3 meters in front of my car, on the ground, there was something, it was a body.
I reached into my jacket pocket. My phone was broken, possibly from the impact of the airbag or the seatbelt.
I approached the body and noticed it was a young man, clad in a black cape adorned with emblems from various Portuguese and foreign student associations and universities. The cape had the logo from the University of Lisbon embroidered in gold.
"Can you speak?" I asked him, trying to assess the extent of his injuries. He responded with a fixed gaze and the word "MOTHER..." followed by a convulsion, blood spewing from his mouth.
Surveying the scene for help at 5 in the morning, the only souls present were myself, the victim, and the driver of the car responsible for the accident. She was a woman, a tall woman with red hair in a white dress, she appeared uninjured despite her staggering. I urgently shouted to her, I raised my voice, "Are you hurt, ma'am? Call 112 and ask for help." She remained unresponsive, gazing at me before screaming, "AHHHH..." and vomiting on both me and the injured man.
I attempted resuscitation maneuvers, pressing on his chest with all my energy until a police officer intervened, pulling me away with the somber words, "Sir, Sir it's not worth it; he's dead."
I must have collapsed myself. I woke up in the hospital with my chest bandaged, a neck brace, and pain all over. The airbag and seatbelt had saved my life, but the cost was high -- two broken ribs, various bruises, and a fractured vertebra.
A police officer came to talk to me, asking for my statement. I told him what happened and we chatted for a while, apparently, I had become famous on the internet as someone had filmed the entire scene and posted it online, the video had gone viral, and the comments were in the thousands. I came out well in the photo, but the comments towards the drunk woman were quite aggressive, calling for her to be locked up in jail, or even for her death.
After spending a few days in the hospital, I returned home and took advantage of the days off to address issues related to my insurance and the repair of my car, which were surprisingly efficiently handled by the insurance company.
When I went back to work, I continued at a steady pace, consistently working overtime. It had been two or maybe three months since the accident when I received a letter from the court informing me that the woman who caused the accident, a teacher named Sofia Santos was going to be tried for vehicular manslaughter, and I had been summoned as a witness.
I talked to my lawyer friend and fellow archer who explained that I didn't need a lawyer, just to appear as a witness. On the appointed day, I went to the Justice campus, entered, and asked the security guard where the courtroom was. He directed me to room 301. Upon entering, I saw Sofia again, now in the defendant's seat, accompanied by a gray-haired lawyer.
Besides me, there were other witnesses, including the police officers. In the spectator's gallery were many of Sofia's students and colleagues, while at the back, standing apart, was Luis Silveira's mother, dressed in black and accompanied by a man in a suit, presumably another lawyer.
