Well this is just the first chapter of something I am writing at the moment. I am not sure on the plot yet, so go ahead and help me with it > :) I always like to know what you think I should do with it... :) Have fun guys!

The girl should not have crossed the road, she should have waited. She should have waited, checked and then walked over. She should have, but she didn’t. She chose to run out behind a parking red Volkswagen, the choice that ended her life and started a very dark chapter in mine.

I sat there frozen, eyes wide open, propped in the seat like an absurd puppet in an absurd ‘This would never happen’ movie. Sadly, I wasn’t. This was real. This situation I had brought upon myself, I had stolen my parent’s car and I had chosen to drive too fast. There was no way I could own up to this, the headlines in the ‘Daily Mail’ the next morning were already forming within my adrenaline polluted brain “Derek Pumplat, 16, selfishly run over an innocent girl”. I could not let this happen, the snap decision I then made should cloud my mind for the rest of my dreary life.

 I drove away. I simply accelerated and drove away. It does sound a bit like the easiest thing to do, the best solution. The worst solution I had ever heard of in my life. The guilt nagged at my conscience and I only realised when I parked the car in the garage and flung myself onto my bed that I had ended somebody’s life.  This someone surely had family; maybe even a little dog. Somebody was probably in love; had a boyfriend. For her it had all ended. I was a murder, a cold bloody murder. I just drove away, like one of those chaps that you read about in the paper; everyone shakes their head about them. But when it happens to you, it’s a different story.

I was disgusted with myself, took of all my clothes, and abandoned them in the darkest corner of my tiny wardrobe. The shower I had was cold; a murder deserved no better. I had no sleep this night. The picture of her face, thunder struck and ash white. The trickle of crimson gurgling up her open mouth; her eyes vacantly staring back at me.

The next day in the small town was like being confronted with murder, literally. Everyone was talking about the innocent girl, the angel, and the selfish murder, me. Not actually about me, they had no idea, but in the end it was: me. The police had had some evidence for the driver to be underage, and decided to visit the place in which there was the highest density of underage citizens, my school.

My consciousness was about as present as a gust of wind, I floated through the school on a cloud of guilt, chocolate coated with fear about being caught. This cloud evaporated as soon as I entered the hall full of sweating 16 year olds, silent on the prospect that there could be a murder in their midst. The policeman polluted the whole room with a thin sheet of subtle authority and as I walked past him I could have sworn his gaze burned holes into my khaki jacket.

The End

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