Face The Music

Never Say Die

It was morning.

Stretching, I rolled out of bed and fell face-down on my hardwood floor. Ouch.

I pushed myself off of the ground and stood up. What a beautiful day! The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and it was already 60 degrees (Fahrenheit) outside! It was a perfect summer day in Vancouver.

I skipped down the stairs and greeted my Aunt Lynn. "Good morning!"

Honestly, I felt like I could do a cartwheel. And I was probably the most inflexible, unathletic creature to ever walk this earth. I could NOT do a cartwheel. Why did I feel so good? After all...

I shot a glance at the calendar. I spotted a big red circle over the date, June 23rd. Today.

Oh...

It was the 4th anniversary of the day my family had died.

I staggered backwards, flailing about, trying to find some balance as the memories came flooding back.

I had been in the hospital for days. I blinked in an out of consciousness, living in the thin veil between reality and delirium. The nurses came and went, whispering in hushed voices around the corners. I tried to move, to ask what had happened, but no one would answer me. Or maybe no one heard me.

Then I finally woke up. I pulled myself out of the black hole that was my mind, straining, beaten up, and breathless. It was my aunt who gave me the news.

There had been a car crash. A drunk driver had swerved, out of control, through the highway barrier between the two lanes right into our minivan's path. For some strange reason, the minivan then swerved in the direction of the rogue car. I was the only passenger unbuckled, so I had flown straight out of the window and crashed into the ground. The rest of my family hadn't been so lucky. The car had flipped over 7 times before coming to a stop, completely destroyed. Then, it had burst into flames. My family stood no chance. My mother and father were dead. So were my little sister and brother.

Why had I survived? I certainly didn't deserve to live after all of this. My parents were good people. My sister was 11. She had so much going for her. My brother was three. I never got to see him grow up. I never got to see what kind of man he would become.

All of these thoughts flew through my head at lightning speed as my Aunt continued to speak. And then I remembered... It had been my hand that landed on the steering wheel when the drunk driver had come towards us. It had been me who pushed the wheel. I had forced the minivan in the way of the stray car. It was my fault. If I hadn't done that -- if I could have steered the car the other way, my family would have survived.

It was my fault.

I had killed my family.

A great, searing pain cut through my chest.

How could this have happened? I wanted to die. I had murdered my family. I deserved to burn in hell.

I couldn't stop the memories from coming. They invaded my mind, as much as I tried to hide away.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. That was what my therapist had told me. In and out. In and out.

It was no use. One after another, crashing relentlessly against my body. I couldn't breathe. It was too much.

Collapsing into the ground, I gasped for air. Then, I laid there for what seemed like an eternity.

__________________

(Pause for visual and mental effect)

Wow, I don't know what that was. Uhh...I feel like towards the end, it got annoying because she passed out. Let me know!

I'm also a horrible Grammar Nazi, so let me know if I made any mistakes, and I'll fix them ASAP.

I wasn't sure what to name this chapter. Whenever I think about this part, this lyric from the song "Catch Fire" by 5 Seconds of Summer comes to mind -- "'Cause the ghost of survivor's guilt can be so unkind". But this story isn't even about 5sos, not that I'd write a story about them anymore. I didn't know why I felt the need to mention that...

Okay, I'll let you go. Until next time!

Comment, and let me know what you think!