Alan moaned, to relieve the stress. He rested his head on his right arm, staring blankly ahead. His old oak desk's drawers creaked as his weight was set firmly on the surface. As the hot, incandescent light of the lamp shone upon his closed eyes, Alan thought of Dana. He pictured her perfect face in his mind, smiling at him... from beyond the grave. Alan opened his eyes for a bit, only to take a quick glance at his calendar. The date-telling apparatus indicated that it was October 13, 2011.
Just three weeks ago, Dana had been walking down the school hallway with Alan, chatting about plans for the weekend. He could still see her sleek, brown hair flutter in the slight breeze as she walked beside him. He could still remember how her slightly tanned complexion contrasted beautifully with the white brick walls. After school that day, the two had walked out the front door together. Alan said goodbye to her, and headed left, to his house. She turned right. As they walked their separate ways, Alan turned around, and admired her hair one more time. One last time, for that would be the last time Alan would ever see Dana's smiling face and windblown hair ever again. Neither of them knew this at the time.
On the right side of Alan's worn oak desk, a short newspaper article lay on its side, folded in half. The heading, ominously bold in black, made the young teen shudder every single time he glanced at it. "Local teen girl dies in car crash".
After school that horrendous day, as Dana walked home from school, the drunk driver of a fast food truck struck her, then proceeded to plough the vehicle into a cluster of trees. Alan didn't know about the incident until 3 hours later, when he was informed by his father, a police officer. The driver, in his late forties, was given a life sentence in prison.
Alan lifted his weary head from the old desk, and shook his head, clearing all of his painful memories of Dana. He swept the newspaper article onto the floor, reached into his pocket, and flicked out his cell phone. Sam's party was in a week, and Alan had no idea what time it was at. As he scrolled through the list of his contacts though, a particular one caught his eye: Dana Green. Alan couldn't resist. He had to try. He composed a new text message, to the deceased Dana Green. "Hey... I never got the chance to say this, but... I love you, Dana."
Content now, Alan closed his clamshell cell phone, placed it carefully on his desk, and slipped into bed, too exhausted to think, and hoping for better days.
the black-cased cell phone on Alan's old oak desk vibrated, shuffling itself a few millimetres to the left. The LCD display read: "New Text Message - Dana Green".