Part 2

“Where am I?” I wonder. I look around. I’m standing in a white room. There are bright fluorescent lights on the ceiling. There is no door on any of the walls. However, there is a large window which almost completely takes up one of the walls. The scene outside the window seems familiar. There is a wet highway, and cars zoom by. I can just barely see the tip of the highway’s shoulder beneath the window. As I watch this scene, I begin to understand what I’m seeing.

“Oh god,” I breathe, “No.”

Just as I say this, I see an all too familiar car. the scene begins to follow the car as if the room is moving with it. Inside the vehicle are two people. The passenger is a blond girl, who looks to be about 17. The driver is a boy, older than the girl, probably by a year or two, with the same blonde hair. The girl has a pained expression on her face. The boy keeps his eyes on the road ahead with a solemn stare. His lips are pressed together in a line.

I know them. I know them so, so well. Because the girl is me. And the boy…the boy is Cameron, my dead brother.

I suddenly throw myself against the window and begin screaming. I know what I am about to witness. I must stop it. However, the car’s occupants ignore me, completely unaware of my warning cries.

And then it happens.

Cameron’s stern expression suddenly twists into one of shock and panic. Suddenly, I hear a horn blaring and a girl’s scream. My scream. I squeeze my now tear filled eyes. I can’t bear to watch. I hear the collision, the crash of the cars, the crunch of metal, the screeching of brakes. It’s horrible.

Then, all is quiet. I slowly let my eyelids open. And then I scream. The new image out the window us more horrible than the noises I had just heard. It is an enlarged image of our car. The driver’s door gapes open and there is Cameron, slouched over the steering wheel, head hanging loosely on his shoulders. Blood trickles down the side of his face. But the worst are his eyes. They stare right at me. Void. Cloudy. Lifeless.

I sat bolt upright in my car with a shriek. I looked around, breathing heavily, nearly hyperventilating. I was in the Wal-Mart parking lot. The sky was a light grey, and the air around was misty. The storm had passed. It was morning. I pressed the heels of my hands to my temples and squeezed my eyes closed. I began to inhale deeply and my breathing slowed. My god, what a nightmare. I looked up, and then opened the visor mirror. I gave a disgusted gasp. I looked like hell. I began running my fingers through my tangled hair and smoothing it out. My eyeliner was smeared all over my face. It had run down my cheeks in tear stains. I wasn’t sure if those tears were from yesterday or the nightmare that had just awoken me, but judging from the moisture on my face I guessed it was the latter.

Suddenly, I became aware of the fact that I felt worse than I looked. I had a splitting headache and I felt as if I were going to vomit out every major organ in my body.

“Hangover,” I muttered unhappily to myself.

I looked over at the Wal-Mart building. A sign suggesting I come into the McDonald’s and try their new Frappe stared at me from one of the windows. I hated coffee. With a burning passion. But as the old wive’s tale went, coffee helps cure a hangover. So that’s why I got out of my car - with some difficulty considering that I almost collapsed onto the asphalt when I stood - and made my way into the store.