The Last Djareo315Please respect copyright.PENANAjmEEwwzP9p
By Bell Mayas
Gaines. 315Please respect copyright.PENANA1imm1CiBUt
On Monday morning, three mistakes led me to my death.
My first mistake? Waking up.
My second mistake was not letting my mum drive me on the first day back to school, as she usually did. She’d pull up in front of the school in her silver SUV, and not caring who was watching, give me a giant kiss on the cheek and wish me the best day.
Half-way out the door I’d let her do so, and wish her a good day in return. I was definitely my mother’s son, everyone and anyone would say who saw us together. Maybe it was the tussled chocolate brown hair, the pale skin and round, grey eyes. Or maybe it was the apathetic, quiet nature that we both wore. The kind that made you come off to other people as a bit of an ass, maybe even a male version of a prude, whatever that was called. It was the sort that when you got to know the person, you could easily discard for better, more out there friend. At least, that’s the message I’d gotten when my best-friend of three years decided to get a friend upgrade.
I’m getting side-tracked, aren’t I? Heh, don’t worry about that, that’ll happen. My dad always described me as the kind to fall down the rabbit hole and end up in Narnia.
So….how was it I was to know something so stupid as wanting my independence would get me killed? I suppose after being dead for a while, you come to understand that’s just the way of things. At first I was scared. Then I was angrier than I’d ever been when I was alive. And now, well, now I’m just curious what I’m going to do next.
But…this is not where began. Where did it begin, you may ask?
Well, it began with my third mistake. Taking a step forward.
The early-morning sun smiled through the canopy of the nature strip bordering the student car-park from the main road, orange and yellow silken rays winking amongst the weeping dew. Standing atop the gutter of the nature strip, staring at the school across the lot with a half-dread, half-oh-I-really-really-wish-I-were-asleep-right-now expression, I looked like the poster-boy for some anti-depression campaign ad. Factory-made torn up jeans, black and white-lace sketchers and a GAME OVER shirt beneath a black hoodie, a pair of giant black-rimmed glasses drooping slightly down my nose.
I’d thought, maybe if I blasted some unknown death metal, just maybe I could calm my nerves and stomach (that seemed to be trying to win a gold medal at the Olympics or something, judging by the flips and spins it was doing.) School is nobody’s favourite place. Eventually it’ll just be a memory, like everything else I s’ppose.
That stupid mantra had gotten me through many a boring class and the numerous lectures from teachers worried about my efforts in…everything. It’d been my father who’d told me that, drunk as can be after he’d found my twelve-year-old self hiding in our long-time empty pool, crying. He’d slid down, beer-belly sagging and wearing a One Direction singlet he’d found, (two sizes too small and a female shirt at that) and nearly broken his ankle in his promise. But after he’d retrieved his composure and his beer, my dad plonked himself beside me and told me the long, long story of how he’d survived high school. In short, he hadn’t. And so, I was determined to do just the opposite.
School is nobody’s favourite place. Eventually it’ll just be a memory, like everything else I s’ppose.
And so, with a sigh, I shoved my hands into my sweater and stepped out onto the road, deaf to the sounds of the oncoming car with music blasting in my ears. I couldn’t hear, and apparently she couldn’t see, judging by the way she ran me over with her Jeep.
There is always a moment. A single moment when you realise what had happened, and yet you refuse to believe it. The force rippled and ripped through my body, slamming me to the ground with more force than I knew existed.315Please respect copyright.PENANADmTbo3EFq5