PART 1: You never know

When I woke up that day, I thought it would be the same as every other day. If I'd known what would happen, I wouldn't have even gotten out of bed. I would have called my mother upstairs and I would've told her I wasn't feeling well, that I thought I should stay home. She would have been worried, but she would've told me I could if I needed to, the little lines creasing her forehead the way they always did when she was concerned.

I would've asked her if my little sister, Lilly, could stay home with me. I suppose it would have surprised her, since I've hated Lilly most of her existence, but I would insist, because I would have wanted to spend the whole day with my family. I would have wanted to spend the day around people who love me.

I wish I hadn't been where I was at that particular time, I wish I had stayed behind at home for a few extra minutes to say goodbye to my mother and Lilly; then maybe I wouldn't have been at that intersection at that time. Some other poor person would be in the terrible situation I am now.

I wish I had made my family happier. I wish I'd done something with my life, spent more time with Lilly, bought a meal for the old homeless man around the corner, donated to charity more, told my parents I loved them. I wish.

I'm probably not making any sense, and I owe whoever is reading this an explanation. Several days ago, I was hit by a car on my way to school, with my friend Anne. It hit my side of the car, and I died instantly. The paramedics that arrived far too late to save me told my parents I hadn't suffered, that I hadn't been in pain when I died.

I wonder when it became their right to say that. They hadn't been hit by a car, how the hell did they know if it hurt? I suppose they think that just because I died on impact, I didn't have any time to feel pain. But I did, and it wasn't from the 4000 pounds of metal slamming into my body. It hurt because all of a sudden, I knew I wouldn't ever see my family again or do anything I wanted to do with my life. That's what hurt. To know that I was going to die, more than actually dying.

I guess no one's here to listen to me talk about what I didn't get to do and how much I regret it, though. I'd advise anyone reading this to leave the short, depressing story of my life and go spend some time with the people you love, because you never truly know just how much time you have left. But no one wants to be told that. No, everyone is here for my story. The tragic tale of how I died. Fine. Here it is.