I really didn't know I could write stories like this. I guess when I'm unhappy the characters that I am writing with suffer. This one has been in my head for awhile, but I really hadn't meant to make it this depressing. It should be interesting to see how it turns out. It is told from Will's point of view.
Disclaimer: I don't own it-now stop bothering me.
There was a newspaper on the counter. Its headline proclaimed, 'Students Killed in a Tragic Bus Accident'. The article went on to talk about the how the bus had somehow swerved from its normal route, and fell off an unfinished bridge. The accident proved fatal for all of the people in the bus, including its driver. The newspaper did not know about the one survivor.
Many hours earlier…
It was a typical Monday morning. I was sitting next to Layla, as usual. Everyone was half asleep, probably from the fact that it was Monday, and many people had stayed up late cramming for some type of test. As we approached the 'Road Ends' sign, I braced myself. I hated the feeling of falling; there was always a small doubt in my head that wondered if just maybe, the jets wouldn't work.
And we were falling. Layla smiled at me, she had long since gotten used to this. It took everyone in the bus about two minutes to realize that something was wrong. The jets in the bus had not kicked in yet. We were falling, and we could not stop. We were going to die. Of course there was no plan, no way to exit. The whole design for the bus was the latest technology. You'd have to be really good with technology in order to break it. It should have been invincible.
Everyone was screaming, and I looked at Layla. She had tears running down her cheeks. For some reason I took her hand. I had this uncontrollable need to comfort her, to take away her hurt, because her hurt was also hurt to me, even though I was terrified. We were going to die. It ran through my head over and over. The ground was so close; we were going to hit it.
"Will," Layla said, just loud enough so that I could hear here over the screams, "I love you."
Realizing full well that we were going to die in a half a second, I said, "I love you too." At that time I didn't even know it myself until I said it. I love her, and it's too late for all of us.
Ten seconds. I put myself over Layla as a shield, a cover. Five, four, three, two, one. The bus hit the ground with a shuddering boom and exploded. I made a hole out of the wreckage, which was now on fire, pulling Layla out with me. Emergency vehicles were by the bus at this time, or what was left of the bus, trying to find survivors. My mom and dad were here already. But I took little notice of them, and focused my attention on Layla, whom I was holding. She wasn't breathing. Tears streamed down my face. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. She wasn't breathing.
From that day on, no one has figured out why I survived the crash. I wished it was someone else, and not me. So much of my friends had died. Good and bad, the people on that bus died. Even though I was a survivor, I didn't live. I had died with the others there, died with Layla. I'm only a shell of who I used to be; the only emotion I have left is sadness.
I visit Layla's grave every day now, for hours at a time. I plant seeds, flowers, bushes, trees, and anything I can. I know she would have liked it, would have laughed at the apple tree I had planted, and the one in my back yard that will grow up to my bedroom window. All the while I try to control the sharp pain in my chest and the bitter tears.
I know she wouldn't want me to live like this, I could hear her voice saying, "Just go, Will. Just live, Will." But the truth was that I couldn't go on. I had lost something beautiful, someone who was the most amazing person I had ever met. The first girl that I was truly in love with. How could I just go? How could I move on?
I know the whole bus blowing up wasn't all that accurate, but whatever. Review please.