Stormy Campbell

Two cars. Four headlights. The sound of metal and plastic crashing together. Glass shattering. The putrid smell of death. The in-mistakable shriek of a young girl dying.

This wasn’t suppose to happen- not to her. Not to the straight A, athletic, smart, all-around American girl. As overused as the phrase was, it fit Cynthia perfectly. However, death did not distinguish between people. Cynthia had been a rather careful driver, but the ice on the road was treacherous, and accidents happen. Soon she was driving into oncoming traffic. Many of the cars swerved around her, but one did not. That’s when the crucial moment happened. Both cars rolled into a nearby patch of trees, though the driver of the other car escaped with only a broken leg and arm.

And now Cynthia found herself in here, this strange room. It was a nice room really- the walls had fresh blue paint on them and there were some flowers on the windowsill. It reminded Cynthia of Spring, which reminded her of life.

As far the furniture went, the room was pretty bare. There was a plush leather couch, a coffee table, a glass of water, and a large plasma television. As she walked over to the coffee table, Cynthia saw a light pink post-it note on the mahogany surface. She picked it up and read it out loud, “Watch the DVD. Help yourself to some water.” The note was anonymous.

“I don’t have much choice, do I?” muttered Cynthia to herself. The recently dead are usually grumpy for a few weeks after their departure from the living. They, however, do not know how long this period of time really is. For this is no reason for the dead to keep time.

Cynthia stretched her arm out for the blue-green remote. Slightly nervous on what the images would convey once she brought them up, she pressed the play button.

The first image that the pixels depicted was of a baby in a hospital room. Cynthia squinted at the birth certificate lying close by. The baby, as she suspected, was her.

Soon she was watching herself develop. She laughed as she watch her old-year-old self try to walk for the first time, and broke out in a shout of triumph. the first time her younger person manage to walk from one wall to the other without falling. She watched six birthday parties go by, and then she watched herself get ready for the first day of school.

“Mama! Mama!” Wake up! It’s the first day of school! I can’t be late!” Cynthia exclaimed.

Cynthia’s mother, Jane, rolled over to face her daughter. Then she saw the florescent light of the alarm clock. 4:15 A.M. The red dots blinked.

“Cynthia,” Jane groaned, “Its only a quarter after four. Your school doesn’t start until eight. Go back to sleep.” And with that, Jane rolled back over. Cynthia tried to wake her, but it was to no avail.

“O...kay, “ replied a very reluctant Cynthia. She, however, had no intentions on going back to sleep. She dressed hurriedly, then sat on her bed with her new, beautiful backpack. It was a light shade of pink, and every time she glanced at it, she got a wonderful chill. She took all her supplies out, reorganized them, then put them back in. “I’m going to school,” she whispered, a smile on her face. She would finally be growing up. It was time.

Cynthia gazed longingly at the TV screen, wishing she could still go to school, talk with her friends, or play sports. She didn’t want to dwell too much on what she was missing, so she continued to watch her life.

Cynthia glanced around. It was only the second week of the fourth grade at her new school, but she had already acquired a cynical attitude towards the whole experience.

The move had been hard on all of them, but Cynthia the most. The first few days, her mom had realized the brutal truth and had greeted Cynthia after school with plates of homemade cookies. Even Allison, Cynthia’s older sister, had been extra kind to her. But now, everybody had settled into a new routine. Everyone except Cynthia.

It was a cool September day, and Cynthia stood in the playground, deciding which was the most appealing apparatus on the ground. It was then that she spotted a lonely girl, with an expression of grief on her face, sitting on one the swings.

Cynthia walked over to her, lowering herself on to the rested metal swing. “Are you okay?” Cynthia hesitatingly asked. The girl looked away, and a long paused followed. Finally, the girl manage to stumble out, “no...I’m not.” Cynthia glanced around awkwardly. She wasn’t sure what to do, so she answered with a hug. Neither of them knew it, but in that moment a friendship was born that would last until Cynthia’s death.

Cynthia’s eyes grew misty as she watched the moment that started a life-long friendship. A friendship that could no longer exist due to her death.

“They put me in a room, making me watch my life, and they don’t think about the possibility I might cry. Where’s tissues when you need them?” she muttered. She wasn’t even sure who she was referring to with “they”.

Blinking through her tears, she tried to stop the DVD, but realized with horror that the button wasn’t even on the remote. The DVD would continue to play no matter how many of the other buttons she pressed.

“I can’t watch this!” Cynthia exclaimed angrily. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the TV, but she still saw the images clearly behind her eyelids.

Slumping further down in the chair, Cynthia resigned herself to the fact she had to watch this. By that time, she was already in middle school. She physically winced, remember those days.

“So Cynthia, are you coming to the movies with us tonight?” asked Kirsten. Kirsten was a recent friend of Cynthia’s. The only thing they truly had in common was five out of seven classes together. Sometimes Kirsten could be rude, but she was fun and adventurous, which made people, including Cynthia, naturally drawn to her.

“I don’t know. I really need to study for that history test.” Cynthia replied.

“C’mon. Blow off studying every once in awhile. You’ll ace it anyways. You always do. Besides, history won’t change on you.”Kirsten answered.

“Yeah. I ace them because I study for them.” muttered Cynthia.

Once home, Cynthia gave a glance to her history notes. “Kirsten’s right.” Cynthia thought, “We all need some fun time now and again.”

Cynthia winced as she thought back. Two days after that incident, she had received a test back with a large, red, sprawly D.

She remembered how made she had been at Kirsten. It hadn’t really been her fault, but Cynthia took her pent-up anger out at her. They had never talked again, and now Cynthia regretted it. “I’ll never be able to say goodbye to any of them.” Cynthia muttered.

A new image soon moved across the screen. He was tall, dark-haired, and blue-eyed. His name was Damon, and he had been Cynthia’s first real boyfriend.

Cynthia stared into her locker. She had all the books she needed in her hands, but she waited in hope that the cute new boy from Spanish class would walk by her. As he started walking in her general direction, she held her breath and closed her eyes.

“Hey.” A slow, easy voice broke her concentration. “Hey,” she replied, expecting anyone but Damon to be there.

“Damon!” she exclaimed, startled.

“Nice to meet you too, Cynthia.” He laughed, “nice Spanish test today, huh?”

Cynthia groaned. “It was the worst. I can’t believe she made you take it either, since it’s only your first day here.”

“So I was wondering...maybe you could show me where the really good, cheap, fast food is around here?” Damon asked. Cynthia gulped, trying to convince the butterflies in her stomach to leave.

“Sure,” she replied, smiling cooly ahead of her as she walked aside Damon.

A smile flittered across Cynthia’s face as she watched her time with Damon. For just a few minutes, she forgot she couldn’t return. However, as soon as realization hit, her spirits crashed down again.

Cynthia missed part of the DVD due to her blubbering, but as soon as she cleared her face she realized she was reaching a depressing moment-her dad leaving the family.

The birds sung, the flowers bloomed, and the hummingbirds beat their wings. But as soon as Cynthia woke up, she could sense something was wrong with this particular Spring day. The floor was a bit colder, she sun a bit sharper. Yes, something was very wrong. Even though it was earlier than when she would usually awake, Cynthia rushed down stairs, expecting her mom to be cooking breakfast like she always did on Saturday mornings.

Instead, she found her mom sitting at the table with a single sheet of notebook paper in her hands. Jane looked terrible. Her hair was messy, her clothes disheveled, and there were bags under her eyes. Silently, she pushed a tear-stained paper towards Cynthia.

“Dear Jane,” it read, “A prime business opportunity has opened up for me. I have to take it. It is in Germany. I will still give you part of my income. I’m not deserting you. I plan to come back, I promise. I love you, I love you and the kids. Please tell them that.

Yours truly,

Jonathon”

However, everyone under the roof of that house knew in their hearts the words were just empty promises. To them, those promises were made of glass- fragile and valuable. But to Jonathon, they were pieces of wood.

Cynthia felt her heart ache as she watched what happened that Spring day. Living it once was bad enough, but having to see it again was torture. Strangely, Cynthia felt that the experience was better than sitting in a room totally alone watching her own life as an outsider.

“It’s not fair!” Cynthia shouted angrily. “I had so much. I was going to be a doctor. I was going to save lives. And yet, I’m the dead one. Everyone loves irony. I’m seventeen. I’m suppose to live for over fifty more years!”

With that, Cynthia broke in to tears. She cried, she screamed. She punched the wall several times, once hard enough to make a hole. And then she cried some more.

When she opened her eyes again, she realized with horror she was coming upon the moment of her death.

Two cars. Four headlights. The sound of metal and plastic crashing together. Glass shattering. The putrid smell of death. The in-mistakable shriek of a young girl dying.