You're laughing. You're young, deliriously happy and your life is boundless. The whimsical, puffy clouds above you seem to be telling you that it's all good. You can tell by the way that the boy from your gym class is smiling at you, that this is your day. You close your eyes, and lift your arms to the air, trying to reach out and touch the sky.

You have your whole life ahead of you.

And suddenly, that woman from the town hall is running towards you, and you know something is wrong.

She doesn't even need to say anything after "there's been an accident".

You bend your knees, and reach your hands over and behind your head, pressing on your shoulders. You swing your arms, which felt light moments ago, and are now rising and falling like dead weight. She tells you to come and she'll drive you home. You hear yourself tell her that you need to get something. You can feel the pity from those around you. The boy isn't smiling at you anymore.

Why wasn't I there?

You know it's your fault, and that thought is unbearable.

You start running, running so fast that you can't even hear your own breathing. You can smell the sweet, freshly cut grass, and you can feel the earth beneath your feet. You know that you can't stop, because if you do, you're sure that the world is going to fall. You've stopped looking, your eyes are drowning, and your nose is running. You trip and fall, and then get up and keep on going, knowing that you just can't stop. And finally, when you've stopped feeling the pain in your heart, and the pounding in your head, you collapse. You inhale the fresh air, your cheek pressed up against the cool, dense mud. And as you lie there, you start to whisper "sorry" again and again. Your throat feels raw and dry, and somewhere deep inside yourself, you'll know that it's never going to be the same.

Because sometimes, sorry just isn't enough.