49 days have passed since the therapist.
Needless to say, I haven't been back.
And I can assure you I'm not going back.
"Molly something happened." Joseph says, barging into my room.
"What?" I say.
He looks like he is at a loss for words.
"Molly, I'm not quite to sure how to tell you this..."
No.
Something bad happened.
This is the same exact way someone told me about it.
"Molly, Jessica was riding her bike across the street when she was hit by a car. She's in the hospital right now. She's in surgery. They don't know if she's gonna live."
What.
Everything suddenly becomes fuzzy.
I feel like I can't breathe.
The walls are closing in.
I don't understand.
Tears blur my already fuzzy vision.
Why?
I was becoming better.
Jessica was helping me.
But now she's gone too.
Now I'm never gonna get better.
I can only pray that she lives.
The last thing I think before I faint is:
I hate cars.
YOU ARE READING
49
Short Story"The number 49 never used to have any significance in my life. It was always just the number after 48 and before 50. But that was before it happened."
