It's just the end of the world

One

"Jess Amble died. That was all there was to it." But it wasn't. It had been heated road rage and more loss and violent injury and nobody could escape that, even if they were to cover up the facts with meaningless sentences. They seemed to be doing that often, though. But the facts were there, and they would stay and they would haunt and they would live, however dead, forever.

It all happened so fast. There was the silver streak practically flying past, the inability to stop, and then the small, ugly, sickly gold-coloured blob of a car. Then the noise. And the darkness. There was the pain, the lights, the sirens, the reassuring voices. The trolley-like beds and the smell of clean halls. The sound of worried tones. It was all a blur. It all happened so, so, so, fast, that then there was the darkness again.

It was a nice darkness. It was peaceful and slow. There were coloured blobs that danced about and morphed into shapes and changed from inanimate objects to moving beings. There was no sound and no disruption. It was just like I was in some kind of magic land.

Then, I felt a short pain. The magic land turned very quickly into a deep pit of horror. There were creatures reaching out to grab my right side. They were all there waiting, pouncing, lunging, until my head buzzed and I fell to the ground as one of them latched onto my arm.

When I woke up, the light was blinding. The room was all white and there was only one person there. She was just a blurred figure at first, but once my vision fixed, she was a nurse. She was busy doing something and hadn't noticed I had woke. I decided to shut my eyes again and to sleep. I didn't want to be here. I didnt want to be anywhere. I didn't want to have just experienced any of that.

I reopened my eyes. The time was different and I could only focus on the clock in front of my... my hospital bed. The second hand ticked, and ticked, and ticked and it didn't stop. Like my thoughts. They didn't stop, they whirled around my mind. I came up with a hundred different scenarios as to why I was there, why there was a clock, why I was lying in a hospital bed with a numb right hand.

It all suddenly rushed back to me. The loudness of the crash and the sirens and all of the other frantic images that lead to the moment in which I looked down at my right hand. I tried to move it, tried to make sense of this, I tried to come to a conclusion as to why it was like this. But I couldn't. I couldn't come to a conclusion. I couldn't make sense of it. I couldn't move my hand. I couldn't even see it. It wasn't there.

Many a day was spent in that hospital bed staring at a clock, with no right hand and recent visitors. They were all so nice to me, unusually nice. My parents always brought me a vase of flowers when they visited once a week. My sister was always talking in a soft, concerned voice as if she was trying to hard to conceal a terrible knowledge. Even some work colleagues surprised me by arriving with a large amount of junk food.

The nights were not as joyful or promising as the days in a stark white hospital room. The nights always consisted of frequent awakening and the same nightmare over and over again. It was always the uncontrolled feeling, a crashing noise, darkness and sirens that engulfed me as my body began to fade away starting from my right arm up until it was only my head left, which was when I woke up. The hospital experience was traumatic and unforgettable, but worse was yet to come.

Once I was finally rid of the place, I was back home at my small flat that smelt like cinnamon incense burners and cigarette smoke. Adjusting to life was hard after the accident. The nightmares didn't stop and I had no job and sixth form didn't seem to be coming to an end soon. People were either kinder to me or wanted nothing to do with me. School became ten times harder with less harassment but also less work, seeing as it was physically impossible at the time for me to complete any.

Then there were the funerals. I had to turn up, what would people think of me if I didn't? It was never fun, though. And never sad. It was like I no longer had any feelings.

There were three, and all separate. The first was an old man from the pavement who's life was coming to an end anyway, but the gold car quickened it up for him. Then it was the passenger of the small gold car who was in her late twenties and a sister to the driver, who also died. A funeral was held afterwards for her, for Jess Amble.

Now here we are. At the funeral. No feelings. No sadness. Just another horrid life lost. Jess Amble, an idiot if there ever was one. She was a terrible driver, an evil soul and a spoilt being.