Dead on Impact

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Understandably, everyone is distraught. They just learned that their friend went off to go and commit suicide, and that he did it alone.

"I never got to tell him how much I liked him," mentioned Tara, in between sobs and tears. "We never got to tell him goodbye."

Michelle clutched the letter, her bittersweet drops falling from her eyes and began to whisper.

"Goodbye, John. I'll miss you."

The phone began to yell for its owner.

"I was oh so sorry to hear about your friend. Choose a place!"

There were four options.

• 1) An abandoned basketball court
• 2) A park filled with flowers and ducks
• 3) A college dorm room
• 4) A dead intersection

Her phone dinged again. And again. And again. Suddenly there were 160 messages from the same person, with the same message, about the same pictures. There wasn't a chance in hell that Michelle was sleeping. This time, instead of sharing it with the group, she decided it would be best for a head-on confrontation. Not the brightest idea but it was a crisis, almost no-one thinks clearly in them.

"Four. On my terms this time, 21:30 or I'm not showing up."
"Understood. Thank you for playing this game with me."

21:30.

She looked down at the watch, completely ignoring the clock on her phone. Michelle had 47 minutes to be there. Surprisingly enough, she seemed to know where she was going. It could have been the street sign glaring back at her, or the store signs that were screaming her name.

"45th and 3rd. 45th and 3rd. 45th an-"

The whispers drew to a bitter end as her car forced the handbrakes on in an attempt to stop a collision. However, the emergency brake was the cause of this crash. The bright lights of the car begun to fade away, the chiming siren slowing to a deafening silence.

"H... help m- m- me," Michelle whispered, her soul draining from her voice.

A bright light. A clatter of a shell casing. A skull, crashing into the metal door it was trapped behind.

"Dead on impact," ruled the paramedics called to this brutal scene.

"Dead on impact."

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