It's Definitely Weird

One: Grace & Luke

"It was a simple Friday night, or so I thought. Little did I know, that it would be the night of my death."

Grace Andrews' Point of View:

        "Come on, please! You don't even have to watch the movie, you can just nap," Here I was trying to convince Charlie to come to the movies with me. It was Friday, and I was bored out of my mind.

        “Grace! I told you: I’m busy on a date…” She led off, not telling me who she was on a date with.

        “…On a date with who?” I questioned her. She was my best friend so I knew she would tell me if she had a date.

        She stayed quiet, and I silently chuckled under my breath.

        I repeated, “Charlie, on a date with whom?”

        “Netflix and ice-cream,” She mumbled.

        I sighed, “Please! You wouldn’t want your best friend to get kidnapped do you?”

        “Well…”

        I faked a gasp, “How could you say that to me, Charlotte Julie Winters?”

        She laughed, “Fine, I’ll be right there but you’re buying the popcorn!”

        “Do you know how much that cos—,” Those were the only words I could get out before she hung up. She really needed to learn how to hang up the phone properly.

. . .

        After I got ready, I got in the car and drove off to the cinema. I stop at semaphore and noticed that ambulances were rushing over to my right. It looked to be a car crash. The light turned green and I drove ahead, not noticing the rushing motorcycle coming towards me.

        For the first two seconds, I didn’t know what was going on. I was mostly in shock. Then I felt it, my ribs getting bruised by my side door. My small car was tipping over to the side. The windshield has shattered and the glass was everywhere. I tried to lift up my hand to cover my face, but my hand was tangled up in the seatbelt. The airbag was suffocating me, so I couldn’t call for help. As best as I could, I looked through the broken windshield and saw the motorcycle in pieces.

        “Is anyone in the car?” Someone asked, hurriedly. I couldn’t answer.

        That was all I heard, before I saw darkness.

        I, Grace Marie Andrews, had died on November 19, 2012, at exactly 10:26 p.m.

 . . . . 

Luke Evans' Point of View:

Eric: You’re coming to the movies, right?

        I chuckled. Eric was my best friend, and he wanted me to double date with him. I didn’t mind… but, let’s just say the girl I’m supposed to ‘date’ was crazy. Completely crazy.

Penny: Luke, are you coming?

Hello?

Are we going to match clothing?

Why aren’t you answering?

You’re still coming, right?

        I told you. That’s only five messages; don’t forget about the thirty other ones left on my phone. I texted Eric back:

Yeah, you want me to bring my motorcycle tonight?

Eric: Sure, I want to take Leila somewhere to eat after the movie, and I may have promised that I would take her on a motorcycle ride…

        I chuckled: As long as you don’t break my baby, we’re good.

        I put my jacket and helmet on.

. . .

        Along the way, I kept receiving text messages. There was no way I was going to open them now, but I needed to see if it was something important. I stopped at a semaphore, and looked around. There were no cars, so I took my phone out.

 Penny: Luke!

Make sure you match my dress.

And you have minty breath ;)

        Gross, someone please get me a trashcan. I’m only doing this for Eric, there’s no way I would kiss her.

Incoming call: Eric

             I looked around the street again, no cars.

            “I can’t talk right now, I’m driving.”

        “Luke, it’s Penny!” Oh no. The light turned green, and I didn’t know what to do. “You wouldn’t answer on your phone, so I called from Eric’s. Did you make sure to match my dress?” I  couldn’t put my phone in my pocket, since it would take too long. There were cars coming and they were beeping at me, “I wore neon green, with my neon pink shoes.”

        “Look, I’ll talk to you later. I have to go,” I said, hurridley. I put my phone between my ear and shoulder, and drove off.

        “But Luke!,” she whined, “You have to wear a neon green tie.”

        “Bye—“ As a hurried to press the ‘end call’ button, I crashed into a small gray car. I hit the driver’s side, and my eyes widened through my helmet. The next thing I knew, I was flying across the field of glass and into a piece of metal from the car.

        I, Lucas Benjamin Evans, had died on November 19, 2012, at exactly 10:26 p.m.

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