The Suicidal Voice Is Back

I am in a car. It is driving too fast. I reach for the wheel, but everytime I try to grab hold of it, my hand goes through it as though it weren't there at all, and perturbed, I settle back into my seat, watching posts and people fly past in a blur.

The car swerves and clips a few people on the way. I start to calm down, becoming not even half as frightened as I had been originally. No longer feeling the desperation and need to stop the car. I just sit back and watch. I don't care anymore.

The car swerves around another corner, and before I can blink, it wraps around a telephone pole. The pole was covered in papers, all of which had my father's face on it. A shaft of metal bursts through the front of the car and into my chest, and as I sit pinned to my chair, my world trickling away down a twisted metal shaft, I watch as all my friends walk past, peek into the shattered hole that had once been my side window. They all look disgusted by what they see, then turn and walk away, not looking back.

I die.

A few days later, my ghost is floating around where I had crashed, and another car slams into the same pole. This time, the wreckage is so horrid that there is no human to identify. An arm has been severed and lays on the ground next to the destruction. It has a ring on the fourth finger. It is the ring I gave to Jasmine. She followed my path.

I flash over to the hospital, where they are tending to all those my vehicle clipped in it's travels. Crystal is there, so is Morgan. They are both in critical condition. My brothers lay a few wards over, similar conditions, but a little better. The doctors declare my Nana dead. My aunt has a sprained wrist. My father is nowhere to be seen, nor is my mother.

I flash back to where I had crashed, only there is a new picture on the telephone pole; it is my face. A second later my mother comes barreling down the road and slams straight into my newly christened post.


This is what I live in my head right now.

02.12.2001 - 23:16

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