 |
 |
 |
|
 | |
|
     |
|
|
||
 |
 |
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
'An Independent Baptist Church' DEAD AT 17 Agony
claws my mind. I am a statistic. When I first got here I felt very much alone.
I was overwhelmed by grief, and I expected to find sympathy. I found no sympathy. I saw only thousands of others
whose bodies were as badly mangled as mine. I was given a number and placed in
a category. The category was called "Traffic Fatalities." The day I
died was an ordinary school day. How I wish I had taken the bus! But I was too
cool for the bus. I remember how I wheedled the car out of Mom. "Special
favor," I pleaded. "All the kids drive." When the It doesn't
matter how the accident happened. I was goofing off ‑ going too fast,
taking crazy chances. But I was enjoying my freedom and having fun. The last
thing I remember was passing an old lady who seemed to be going awfully slow. I
heard a crash and felt a terrific jolt. Glass and steel flew everywhere. My
whole body seemed to be turning inside out. I heard myself scream. Suddenly,
I awakened. It was very quiet. A police officer was standing over me. I saw a
doctor. My body was mangled. I was saturated with blood. Pieces of jagged glass
were sticking out all over. Strange that I couldn't feel
anything. Hey, don't pull that sheet over my head. I can't be dead. I'm
only 17. I've got a date tonight. I'm supposed to have a wonderful life ahead
of me. I haven't lived yet. I can't be dead. Later I
was placed in a drawer. My folks came to identify me. Why did they have to see
me like this? Why did I have to look at Mom's eyes when she faced the most
terrible ordeal of her life? Dad suddenly looked very old. He told the man in
charge, "Yes, he's our son." The
funeral was weird. I saw all my relatives and friends walk toward the casket.
They looked at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen. Some of my buddies were
crying. A few of the girls touched my hand and sobbed as they walked by. Please,
somebody ‑ wake me up! Get me out of here. I can't bear to see Mom and
Dad in such pain. My grandparents are so weak from grief they can barely walk.
My brother and sister are like zombies, They move like
robots. In a daze. Everybody.
No one can believe this. I can't believe it, either.Please,
don’t bury me! I'm not dead! I have a lot of living to do! I want to laugh and
run again. I want to sing and dance. Please‑don't put me in the ground! I
promise if you give me just one more chance, God, I'll be the most careful
driver in the whole world. All I want is one more chance. Please, God, I'm only
17. |