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Title: Please God, I'm only 17!

Please God, I'm only 17!

Agony claws my mind. I am a statistic. When I first got here I felt very much alone. I was overwhelmed with grief and I expected to find sympathy.

I found no sympathy. I saw only thousands of others whose bodies were as badly mangled as mine. I was given a number and placed in a category. The category was called: "Traffic Fatalities."

The day I died was an ordinary school day. How I wish I had taken the bus. But I was too cool for the bus. I remembered how I wheeled the car out of Mom. "Special favor," I pleaded. "All the kids drive." When the 2:50 bell rang I threw my books in the locker. I was free until 8:40 tomorrow morning. I ran to the parking lot excited at the thought of driving a car and being my own boss. Free!

It doesn't matter how the accident happened I was goofing off, going too fast. Taking crazy chances. But I was enjoying my freedom and having fun. The last thing I remember was passing an old lady who seemed to be going awfully slow. I heard a deafening crash and felt a terrific jolt. Glass and steel flew everywhere. My whole body seemed to be turning inside out. I heard myself scream.

Suddenly I awakened; I was very quiet. A police officer was standing over me. Then I saw a doctor. My body was mangled. I was saturated with blood. Pieces of jagged glass were sticking out all over. Strange that I couldn't feel anything. Hey, don't pull that sheet over my head, I can't be dead. I'm only 17. I've got a date tonight. I'm supposed to grow up and have a wonderful life. I haven't lived yet. I can't be dead.

Later I was placed in a drawer. My folks had to identify me. Why did they have to see me like this? Why did I have to look at Mom's eyes when she faced the most terrible ordeal of her life? Dad suddenly looked like an old man. He told the man in charge, "Yes, he is our son."

The funeral was a weird experience. I saw all my relatives and friends walk toward the casket. They passed one by one, and looked at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen. A few of the girls touched my hand and sobbed as they walked away.

Please, somebody wake me up! Get me out of here. I can't bear to see my Mom and Dad so broken up. My grandparents are so racked with grief they can barely walk. My brother and sister are like zombies. They move like robots. In a daze. Everybody. No one can believe this. And I can't believe it either.

Please don't bury me! I'm not dead! I have a lot of living to do! I want to laugh and run again. I want to sing and dance. Please don't put me in the ground. I promise if you give me just one more chance, God, I'll be the most careful driver in the whole world. All I want is one more chance.

Please, God, I'm only 17.