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Description
CRASH

     I glanced over quickly taking in my mother’s horrified expression, her face illuminated by the strange lights that got brighter as they raced towards us. The screaming of brakes rang in my ears as the confusion eased into a swift understanding. Terror washed over me as my brain registered the eerie groaning, the sharp screeching of metal colliding with metal.

     I gasped awake in a cold sweat, my damp auburn hair clinging on to my forehead. I looked around the room wondering where I was and then reality hit. I was in my Aunt's apartment, and it was just another nightmare. I wasn’t sure as to why I was surprised, I haven’t had a full nights sleep in a few years, But now every time I closed my eyes my mind brought back the all fear and the pain of my mother’s final minutes, portrayed ever clearly in her jade-green eyes; my eyes. The last memory I have of her scarred my brain and screwed up my psyche, this was not the first time I thought I’ve gone crazy. I wasn’t the only one who thought that either.

     I haven’t really been normal since the accident, or at least that’s what everyone calls it. It doesn’t annoy me as much as it used to, people calling it that; an accident. Crossing an intersection a truck collided with the side of our car, turns out the man who hit us was not only drunk but high on some strange combination of Pot, Meth, and Ecstasy. When the cops talked to the guy he told them he was Jack Blacks’ evil twin brother hell-bent on taking over the world. I didn’t find out about that till later though. I’ll admit that I don’t know much about drugs but that cannot be healthy. Not my idea of and accident, but what the fuck do I know?

     My mother died that day, and I didn't.

     So now I live with my aunt Cynthia, my mother’s older and slightly deranged sister. I never really liked her; she always scared me as a kid, but she’s the only family I have left. Apparently, I am not mature enough yet to live on my own, ridiculous, I think, but I refuse to be in this God forsaken hell much longer. It’s the general idea that maturity comes with age, but I don’t think that’s true. To me, maturity comes with experience. You can be forty and still be ridiculously imature; a child, And I have seen twelve year olds with more comon sense then your average adult, so I am pretty sure that that theory is a bust.

     A loud bang, followed by my aunt yelling loudly interrupted my morose thoughts. It was almost time for school. Assuring her that I was awake, with just a bit of annoyance colouring my tone, I started getting dressed. I pulled on a pair of old, hole-filled jeans, and paired it with a faded black hoodie advertizing some shoe company or other. Smoothing my hair with my fingers I headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I didn’t even glance in the mirror, I knew that I looked like hell, but I really didn’t care. There wasn’t much I cared about these days.

      I half-walked half-fell to the kitchen and took a granola bar out of the cupboard. It was my breakfast as well as my lunch. Probably would have been my dinner too if Cynthia didn’t throw a fit, but that would have been tempting fate. Grabbing my books off the counter and shoving them in my bag I stumbled out the door into the cold January air. I shouted to let her now I was leaving, I didn’t want her to call the cops again. God, I Fucking hate school. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if my mother hadn’t moved me all over the country, but I am about 95% sure that the teachers, the students, and the work they gives whould still be just as stupid with time.

     The icy wind was a slap in the face, the dirty slush on the ground sinking into my shoes made my feet feel like ice, but I kept walking. I guess I could have gotten a ride with Auntie ‘C’ but I didn’t really want to do that again. She just didn’t understand that I preferred to be alone. When ever I was in hearing range she, very persistently, complained that I was not even trying to make some friends. I just never really connected to people though; I was never on the same page as anyone, especially not others my age.

     When my aunt was in school she was that really pretty, super friendly, amazingly intelligent and always happy type of girl. The type of girl who constantly got on your nerves but you could never justify disliking her because she was always so nice to everyone. That’s not who I am though, I am more of the average looking with the habitual mood swings, who was actually fairly smart just to dumb to show it kind of girl. Cynthia just didn’t get it. That was the worst part about living with her. When she stares at me like I am pathetic; when she sits accross me from the table think about how she could possibly be related to me; when she gives me lectures or tips all the time wondering why I can't just be normal. I see that look on her face and just want to scream that nobody can watch their parents violently die and still be normal. Nobody.

     Not that it really matters what she thinks anymore, I didn’t impress anyone with my anti-social behaviour and it would just be more trouble than its worth to try and make friends at this point. Besides, I was leaving soon.

     I arrived at school just before the bell rang, so I barely had time to go to my locker. I just knew I was going to be late as a hurried to get to my class, it was almost inevitable. I got there just a little after the second bell, earning a disapproving look from the teacher and a grumbled comment that sounded like, “Now that Miss McCoy has arrived the class can begin,” Or something  asshole-ish like that. As I walked to my seat in the back I vaguely wondered what the big deal was, it wasn’t like he had started the class yet or anything. I took my props – I mean books – out of my bag and placed them on the desk. Sitting back, I prepared to be bored out of my mind for the next seventy minutes.

     The rest of that day followed the same pattern of my life. Monday to Friday, were all pretty much the same. English, Math, Social studies, Lunch, Science, Study block, French. English, Math, Social studies, Lunch, Science, Study block, French. And repeat. Every-Fucking-Day.

     The biggest difference with today was that it was January nineteenth. My Seventeenth birthday. Not that I told anyone, I wasn’t into the whole attention thing. This time last year, I was just regaining consciousness. I spent my ‘sweet sixteen’ in the hospital, surrounded by the extremely irritating beeping of machinery and the aching pain the shot into my chest every time I tried to breathe. I broke three ribs, and lapsed into a coma. Happy fucking birthday to me.

     Mentally reminding myself to be optimistic, for the first time in months, I tried to remember the bright side of today’s date. Because I am naturally dramatic I am going to leave - run - at 12:00 Am on my eighteenth birthday. If I try to leave before that they'll just hunt me down.I am just going to  take what little I own and leave. No note, no explination, I'll just be gone. And I am not coming back. Ever. I mean let's face it - it's the only thing I really have to look forward to.

Description
CRASH

     I glanced over quickly taking in my mother’s horrified expression, her face illuminated by the strange lights that got brighter as they raced towards us. The screaming of brakes rang in my ears as the confusion eased into a swift understanding. Terror washed over me as my brain registered the eerie groaning, the sharp screeching of metal colliding with metal.

     I gasped awake in a cold sweat, my damp auburn hair clinging on to my forehead. I looked around the room wondering where I was and then reality hit. I was in my Aunt's apartment, and it was just another nightmare. I wasn’t sure as to why I was surprised, I haven’t had a full nights sleep in a few years, But now every time I closed my eyes my mind brought back the all fear and the pain of my mother’s final minutes, portrayed ever clearly in her jade-green eyes; my eyes. The last memory I have of her scarred my brain and screwed up my psyche, this was not the first time I thought I’ve gone crazy. I wasn’t the only one who thought that either.

     I haven’t really been normal since the accident, or at least that’s what everyone calls it. It doesn’t annoy me as much as it used to, people calling it that; an accident. Crossing an intersection a truck collided with the side of our car, turns out the man who hit us was not only drunk but high on some strange combination of Pot, Meth, and Ecstasy. When the cops talked to the guy he told them he was Jack Blacks’ evil twin brother hell-bent on taking over the world. I didn’t find out about that till later though. I’ll admit that I don’t know much about drugs but that cannot be healthy. Not my idea of and accident, but what the fuck do I know?

     My mother died that day, and I didn't.

     So now I live with my aunt Cynthia, my mother’s older and slightly deranged sister. I never really liked her; she always scared me as a kid, but she’s the only family I have left. Apparently, I am not mature enough yet to live on my own, ridiculous, I think, but I refuse to be in this God forsaken hell much longer. It’s the general idea that maturity comes with age, but I don’t think that’s true. To me, maturity comes with experience. You can be forty and still be ridiculously imature; a child, And I have seen twelve year olds with more comon sense then your average adult, so I am pretty sure that that theory is a bust.

     A loud bang, followed by my aunt yelling loudly interrupted my morose thoughts. It was almost time for school. Assuring her that I was awake, with just a bit of annoyance colouring my tone, I started getting dressed. I pulled on a pair of old, hole-filled jeans, and paired it with a faded black hoodie advertizing some shoe company or other. Smoothing my hair with my fingers I headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I didn’t even glance in the mirror, I knew that I looked like hell, but I really didn’t care. There wasn’t much I cared about these days.

      I half-walked half-fell to the kitchen and took a granola bar out of the cupboard. It was my breakfast as well as my lunch. Probably would have been my dinner too if Cynthia didn’t throw a fit, but that would have been tempting fate. Grabbing my books off the counter and shoving them in my bag I stumbled out the door into the cold January air. I shouted to let her now I was leaving, I didn’t want her to call the cops again. God, I Fucking hate school. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if my mother hadn’t moved me all over the country, but I am about 95% sure that the teachers, the students, and the work they gives whould still be just as stupid with time.

     The icy wind was a slap in the face, the dirty slush on the ground sinking into my shoes made my feet feel like ice, but I kept walking. I guess I could have gotten a ride with Auntie ‘C’ but I didn’t really want to do that again. She just didn’t understand that I preferred to be alone. When ever I was in hearing range she, very persistently, complained that I was not even trying to make some friends. I just never really connected to people though; I was never on the same page as anyone, especially not others my age.

     When my aunt was in school she was that really pretty, super friendly, amazingly intelligent and always happy type of girl. The type of girl who constantly got on your nerves but you could never justify disliking her because she was always so nice to everyone. That’s not who I am though, I am more of the average looking with the habitual mood swings, who was actually fairly smart just to dumb to show it kind of girl. Cynthia just didn’t get it. That was the worst part about living with her. When she stares at me like I am pathetic; when she sits accross me from the table think about how she could possibly be related to me; when she gives me lectures or tips all the time wondering why I can't just be normal. I see that look on her face and just want to scream that nobody can watch their parents violently die and still be normal. Nobody.

     Not that it really matters what she thinks anymore, I didn’t impress anyone with my anti-social behaviour and it would just be more trouble than its worth to try and make friends at this point. Besides, I was leaving soon.

     I arrived at school just before the bell rang, so I barely had time to go to my locker. I just knew I was going to be late as a hurried to get to my class, it was almost inevitable. I got there just a little after the second bell, earning a disapproving look from the teacher and a grumbled comment that sounded like, “Now that Miss McCoy has arrived the class can begin,” Or something  asshole-ish like that. As I walked to my seat in the back I vaguely wondered what the big deal was, it wasn’t like he had started the class yet or anything. I took my props – I mean books – out of my bag and placed them on the desk. Sitting back, I prepared to be bored out of my mind for the next seventy minutes.

     The rest of that day followed the same pattern of my life. Monday to Friday, were all pretty much the same. English, Math, Social studies, Lunch, Science, Study block, French. English, Math, Social studies, Lunch, Science, Study block, French. And repeat. Every-Fucking-Day.

     The biggest difference with today was that it was January nineteenth. My Seventeenth birthday. Not that I told anyone, I wasn’t into the whole attention thing. This time last year, I was just regaining consciousness. I spent my ‘sweet sixteen’ in the hospital, surrounded by the extremely irritating beeping of machinery and the aching pain the shot into my chest every time I tried to breathe. I broke three ribs, and lapsed into a coma. Happy fucking birthday to me.

     Mentally reminding myself to be optimistic, for the first time in months, I tried to remember the bright side of today’s date. Because I am naturally dramatic I am going to leave - run - at 12:00 Am on my eighteenth birthday. If I try to leave before that they'll just hunt me down.I am just going to  take what little I own and leave. No note, no explination, I'll just be gone. And I am not coming back. Ever. I mean let's face it - it's the only thing I really have to look forward to.