A high school girl is responsible for her friends deaths. She tries to hide the guilt, but it basically drives her insane.
It was three in the morning. Jackie, Brad, Aaron and I were on our way from a party. We were wasted; I was driving and none of us saw the curve in the road. We plunged thirty feet down onto another highway. Our car burst into flames on impact. I was the only one who made it out alive. That's all I remembered about the night my best friends were killed.
A week after the accident, when the doctors released me, the questions came. How I loathed those that asked me what happened and if I was okay. Generic answers tumbled out of my mouth as I suppressed the urge to scream, "Yes, I know what happened!" and "No! Why would I be okay?" After days of repetative questioning, I just locked myself away and quit talking.
I stayed hidden for a month before allowing anyone to speak to me, but by then, I had lived with the pain for far too long. The absence of hurt made me feel dead. I searched for things that brought that feeling back. The pain was my lifeline. It helped me know I was still alive. The doctors put me on many different medications to try and help my pain issue, but it only made me want to hurt myself more. They swore I was a mental case and exiled me to an asylum.
While I was locked up, I began to find other things to fill the void in my soul that longer for pain. Pen caps evolved into razors, and soon, it became like my old habit: that my life was only blood and pain.
More time passed, and my emotional state grew worse. I starved myself for days and cut my arms and legs excessivley at night. My mind often raced back to the thoughts I had the first night I lost my sanity. "I should have died in that car with them. It was my fault anyway. It should have been my that burned in the furnace. They should have lived."
I truly lost what was left of my sanity that night in my cold asylum cell. I used to be an angel before the accident; then, I turned mental. Suicide isn't something a sane person would contemplate, but what is the limit on sanity? I thought over this underlying question for a few moments. Then, I did something I should have done the night of the accident. I lit a match, and I watched myself burn.