The endings of stories that I'll never even start writing.

That reckless saturday night

  You know that moment after someone tells you something really bad, like if someone tells you that a friend died or something like that. It's just silence, it feels like someone just punched you in the gut and you don't know how to take it, so you just sit there in confusion, in silence, wondering if they're playing some twisted joke on you. When he died, that's what it felt like, a punch to the stomach. I remember the first day of school, he was just another face in the crowded hallway. Then his boisterous and stupid friends started hitting on me. I think he told them to so he could talk to me. Then he started giving me rides home, and God was he awful at driving, I knew he was going to crash one day, I didn't think this soon. I knew he liked me from the start, I told myself not to fall for him but when do I ever listen.

  He was my first love, my first heartbreak.  We probably would've lasted for a long time if it wasn't for that stupid party everyone went to, I should've known he wasn't good to drive home, I should've drove him home. His friends said that it's not my fault and I can't do anything about it.  I wish I could. I wish I could take away that reckless Saturday night. I wish I could take his keys from his truck that night. I wish I could drive him home and make sure he was safe. I wish I could make him drink water so he could've sobered up enough to realize he was too drunk to drive.

  but I can't, and I'll never be able to...