www.whyville.net Apr 26, 2009 Weekly Issue

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Author's Note: I could have sent this into Creative Writing, but it would mean skipping "A Second Chance" for a week! So here goes, I hope you learn from this.

I stared up at the beautiful house. The fountain in the front yard, the rose bushes, everything about it screamed money. I loved living here, I spent all of my childhood here. I grew up behind these walls with my innocence, that had eventually faded to be my horrible behavior. I didn't want to leave. And yet, I had to.

I walked through the house one last time. The large kitchen that I once sat in with my Easy Bake Oven was now quiet with mourning. I stepped soundlessly through the kitchen, touching each pan and countertop one last time. I pulled my Easy Bake out from under the sink and just tinkered with it for a moment. I wished so badly I hadn't outgrown this little device so quickly. The pain rippling through my forehead and neck was excruciating, yet bearable. I carefully placed my toy back and shut the cabinet with care, kissing my fingers and lightly touching the door. It glowed for a second where my kiss had landed, then shimmered back to normal.

The dining room was where I held my tea parties with my friends from age seven to age seventeen. I was seventeen now. I sat at the head of the table, staring down the empty lines. I imagined how my best friends were, they sat and we chatted about everything. Mom would cook a meal for us, we would enjoy our tea and meal, and then head outside. After we turned fourteen, we would head down to the mall and hang out, shopping with shakes in our hands and bags upon bags upon bags all over us. We would sort them out when we got to my house, and borrow clothes the next week. Oh, how I wished I could come back to this simple yet beautiful tradition.

I walked out into the backyard, so many memories. I walked to the swing set and sat down, a single tear trickling down my cheek. My long, auburn locks hid my face in synchronization with my palms. I had my first kiss on this swing set. That was a night I would never forget. I loved him so much. At sixteen, and as beautiful as everybody said I was, you would think I would have already had my first kiss. But no, I saved that for someone special to me. And I was right. We spent all of our free time together, hand in hand, not saying a word. I would stare into his eyes, and he'd stare into mine. Nothing was said during these moments, because the silence said it all. We loved each other beyond words. I sobbed as I rose, and walked to a delicate rose bush behind the swings. I carefully picked a bundle, careful not to prick myself, and lay half of the bundle on both swings. My love had come and gone like the wind: swiftly.

The trampoline was another tear jerker for me. I used to lay on it with him and watch the night sky, his fingers wrapped warmly around mine. I let the most prominent memory wash over me like waves on the sand. "I love you," he whispered quietly, sitting up and staring into my eyes. "I love you, too. You knew though," I said hoarsely. He held my hand, this was my seventeenth birthday, he hadn't needed to be reminded, he was the first to say happy birthday. "I have a present for you." He rose, pulling his hand out of mine. I reached back for it, but he pulled out a ring. I teared up at the sight, staring into his eyes instead of at the open box with a huge rock on a delicate ring. "Will you marry me, Sharice?" I was beyond words at this point. I nodded, and he slipped the ring on my finger. He kissed me, and we stared at the stars, my head on his chest. I didn't want this night to end, but he had to leave soon.

I felt the tears sliding down my cheeks as I finally turned to leave. I couldn't stare at the starry night anymore. I walked, walked for miles, and ended up at a car accident. I stared into the accident, wide eyed in fear. Two beautiful girls were on the pavement, still, lifeless, and cold looking. They bled into the pavement, eyes wide open and mouths open in a forever silent scream. A boy was behind the wheel, and a girl was hunched over the top of the passenger seat. I screamed, a cut off gurgle, when I saw the girls on the pavement. When I saw the boy behind the wheel. When I saw the girl hunched over the seat.

Nicole. Kayla. Zahri. Michael. And. . .


I fell to my knees, sobbing. My body was on the pavement. The pain in my head and neck made sense. I was dead. Michael was dead. Nicole, Kayla, and Zahri. Dead, dead, dead. I looked desperately for Michael. How could we be so stupid! No seat belts. It seemed so silly at the time, we were just up the street.

And we didn't pay a fine of money. We paid our lives. And now our families had to invite people to pay their respects.

I turned around, headlights were coming at me. No, not headlights. There was someone in the light. I squinted into the light, and saw his face. "Sharice," Michael whispered. I looked at our bodies, so far apart in death. And I stared at his face, glorious, even bloodied in death.

I sprinted to him without ever looking back.


This was not a true story, but it could be. How many people die on a daily basis from car accidents and not wearing a seat belt? Click the belt, you guys. No police officer I have spoken to has ever pulled a dead body from a seat belt. Some people don't live to be 25 because they didn't click it. Stay alive, stay alive to 25. Click it, you can save your life.


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