Michael Fawner had been driving for approximately 14 minutes when he hit a red light. "More like orange. Darn lights," he muttered. "Now the government's too cheap to fund them too," he complained to the car. He waited like the good citizen he was, and then hit the pedal when the red turned to sea-foam green, the color it had turned when the government stopped funding this particular part of the neighborhood.

Anyone not suffering from this man's ailing mind would have been able to see the figure sprinting out into the street. It darted too and fro, missing traffic by merely an inch; almost causing dozens of accidents. Mr. Fawner, oblivious to his failing vision, drove on, clearly straight in the way of the sprinter. At the last seconds, his mind came back to him. This was not his beloved station wagon. His wife and children were dead. His friends…gone. His family…gone. Now his life would be gone too.

His frost blue eyes saw the dirty, panic-stricken face of a teenage girl. He hit the brakes, but alas, they had never been replaced after Rosy's accident. If only Mr. Fawner's condition had improved, then Rosy would've been allowed a raise, which would, in turn, have given her the chance to receive new brakes.

Horrified, Mr. Fawner watched the girl stare wide-eyed at him. He jolted in his seat while his head hit the windshield as they made contact.

All she could hear was beep, beep, beep, beep. The irritating noise annoyed her. All she was searching for was sleep. Why was that so difficult? Then abruptly, the night's events rushed back to her. The man; the old man that had hit her. She had run into the way of his car. She had watched his look of aghast before her middle had made contact with the car. Was he alright?

Emily tried to move, but pain flooded her entire body. It coursed through her system like poison or her hate in the veins. It seemed to be holding her back, but then she realized she was strapped to the white bed. The pitiful teenager scanned her surroundings. She was in a room of white. Everything from the walls to the sheets of her cheap bed were white. Had she died at last? Was this the end to her miserable life on earth? A quick look around left her with the sight of a bedpan on the floor. Emily though to herself, This must be a hospital.Dreadfully, she realized she had not died. What a pity. She was serious.

Taking another look around, the girl realized that her room and another's was separated only by a thin sheet of cloth; cheap cloth. Evidently, she was in Hospital 39; a place known for its shamefully low-priced budget and dark secrets in the surgery room.

Rosy sat in the waiting room, impatiently. She fiddled with her jacket's buttons uselessly. How could this happen? She should have been watching out for him. She should have stopped him. Why didn't she stop him? These thoughts floated around her mind uselessly. Then she stopped suddenly. Why did she care so much? Why did this man keep her on her toes constantly? He should have family worrying for him, and instead he has a fumbling nurse perturbing for his sake. Life is unfair.

A handsome, middle-aged man in a white coat approached her. Speaking gently he asked, "Are you a relative?" "No," she replied, "he has none." The doctor generated a look of concern. "None at all?" he questioned again.

"None," She replied anxiously.

Again, the doctor seemed disturbed. He remarked casually, "Remarkably, Mr. Fawner is not all that bad off. He retained his seat belt while driving; it kept his body from crashing through the wind shield. He should be back in action within a couple weeks. It's a miracle he had his seat belt on. God must have been watching over him."

"That would be a first," Rosy muttered. She paused; then suddenly asked, "How is the girl?" The doctor gave an uncomfortable shrug. "She's an orphan. No family. She's been living on the run from cops for about 3 years now. She's of no concern to Mr. Fawner. It's lucky he hit her before she became a felon."

A look of disgust passed Rosy's face. "Lucky? That's disgusting! You honestly believe that hitting a girl was God's plans?" Again that uncomfortable shrug. Rosy frowned in revulsion. She turned her gray head from the doctor and would look at him no further. He apparently took the hint and left her presence.

Mr. Fawner awoke to a woman in a white coat fumbling over his medication. The IV was killing his arm. The sharp needle was not fully in the vein. Where was he? He searched the wall for a hint of what was going on. Cheap clothe separating his room from another, white walls, horrible medication…he was in Hospital 39. The conclusion did not bring light into the dark situation.