Dead Queen

Prolog

I've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling me to run. And I should listen. I'm a simple human being who graduated from high school, and I'm about to go to college, where I will study English and psychology. I love books so much, and that is the reason why I am going to study English. 

I've always found it so interesting and beautiful how someone can write a book about a whole new world with people's feelings and personalities and their lives and what they've experienced and what they're going to experience, yet everything in the book is from just one person, that is the author, so you don't just get to know the characters in the book, but we get to know the author, who always left a little piece of himself in every character.

 So here I am, happy with my life, where I'm trying to save mine and my friend Suzi's coffee and sandwiches that I went to buy us for lunch. I'm not complaining; I like it that way. I have a perfect job as a librarian that I enjoy and that pays well. So that's another plus in my life. I must have been too busy thinking because I bumped into someone. 

I spilled coffee on them and immediately started apologizing furiously. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to". The man was shocked at first, but then he smiled at me. "It's okay, he said. I found it a bit embarrassing, so I asked his name. "Excuse me for asking, but what is your name"? The man looked at me and said," My name is Peter.

" "It was nice to meet you". I said. "I know your name; it would be only fair that you know my name as well, or shouldn't it"? I stated. The man nodded in agreement, and I took it as a sign to tell him my name. "My name is Amyra". I answered. Peter was about to say something, but then there was a scream and a shrill sound. 

Peter and I quickly turned around. We saw a car that was coming towards us already crumpled and smashed, with a dead driver at the wheel, and the only thing I can think of in my last moments is how much this kind of death stinks, and wasn't I supposed to have my guardian angel to protect me, right?

 My grandmother always told me he'd look out for me, and where the hell is he now? I hope that if I have this guardian angel, I'm going to die a quick death or somehow miraculously miss that flying car.

 But the second thought is less likely now. I have only seconds left. I pray that my family is healthy and strong in the last moments. While I'm thinking, my body is on autopilot. My legs and my whole body are working together to get me out of danger. But I couldn't do it on time; it's impossible. I accept it the way it is. I had a good life full of things I liked and wanted, but it was a short life, and that stinks. Time seems to slow down, and suddenly it's dark.