One
Counting
Counting. That seems to be all I have been doing lately besides mourning. Counting. Counting the days, he has been gone. The endless days of living with my evil stepmother. Counting. Counting. That is all I seem to be doing. Counting the days, my two best friends have been gone. By gone I mean dead. Counting. Counting how long it will be till I see them again.
It should have been me. After all it was my fault we got in the crash. I should have died at the scene. They did not deserve it. But instead they died. The only people who really cared and loved me.
As soon as my dad and sister were my stepmom had a new boyfriend. Counting. I was counting the days that she has had this new boyfriend of hers. Counting how many times she has beaten me. Counting how many time she has made a fool of herself and has blamed it on me. Counting the times, she has stayed up all night with her boyfriend not taking care of her responsibilities and leaving me to do them for her.
It was a turn. I told him it was clear when I wasn’t even looking. I just said it was then, boom we got hit with a big cargo truck. It hit me and my dad, but I was not injured. I just had a couple of scrapes. How my sister died is that she got flung out the window, hit her head and she got pierced through the ear canal with a piece of glass and died instantly from impact and loss of blood. My dad died because when the airbag inflated, it popped on my dad’s army necklace. It got in his mouth, up his nose, in his ears, pieces scattered in to his eyes. He inhaled to much of the airbag and by the time that the ambulance arrived at the scene he had no chance of living. He had no pulse and I did not have the skills to remove the pieces of airbag out of his throat.
Counting. Counting how many more days till I saw my so-called friends. Counting the days till they asked me how my summer was. Counting how many I am sorry for your loss statements I will hear. Counting how many people say that they are there if I need to talk. Counting how many people will have heard about the story and know that it was my fault. Counting how many people will feel sorry for my loss. Counting how many people agree with me that I should be dead not them. Counting. Counting. Always counting.
The Emt’s said that there was nothing that they could do because there was poison in the airbag that can kill people and animals instantly if ingested. I sat there crying. They asked if there was anything they could do to help me with the remorse of this event. They drove me home as I cried and cried. When we drove up to our house, my stepmother saw the ambulance she started to cry but I knew it was fake because at night I could hear them arguing and when she got mad at my dad she would smash on of his great grandmother’s special pieces of china.
Counting. Counting, counting, counting is the only thing I know how to do know besides cry, morn, and do nothing. It is all my fault I ever think.
Counting the days till id be with them. Counting the days, they have been gone. Counting the days, I will have to live with this wicked person in my life. Counting. Day by day. Minute by minute. Second by second. Counting.
Author Notes: The next chapter is comming soon. I hope you like it. Reviews are always welcome.
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United States • 21 years old