I really wanted to write something meaningful and this is what I came up with.

This story is dedicated to everyone who has ever lost someone in a car crash.

I ask that you give ideas and review like normal.

But if you lost someone in a car crash, post their first name(s) and we're going to make a chain that I'll add names to every chapter.

Thank you for your time. I hope that you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it.

Prison Gates

Seventeen years old, living a dream life of no responsibilities, taking no part in a family life, partying, drinking. All these years, no one put him in place, everything else was diluted by his conceited, selfish, aggressive behavior, not that anyone really cared that he was dying on the inside, suffering from a loss of emotions that shouldn't be stirred within such a young mind. No one ever thought about him being neglected, not purposely, by his parents who were always working, having no time for their own son, sometimes he thought of himself as a mistake, a blunder of nature and life, something that shouldn't exist. Sometimes, a side of him would tell him that they actually did care about him, that he was loved; he would always block it out with fierce reminders of his being neglected. Everything changed one night. After a night of binge drinking and partying with his friends, he took off driving. Of course, being almost unconscious and in control of a two ton metal car isn't a good combination.

"Will he be all right?" there was a familiar feminine voice from the other side of the room, but he couldn't open his eyes; they were sewed shut.

Without even knowing it, he groaned out, trying to talk, making the doctors rush over to see if he was awake. Troy himself didn't know what was going on, he didn't remember what had happened.

"Troy," a man's voice echoed in his head and he felt another hand grip his, "I need you to squeeze my hand if you can hear me."

Troy grasped the other hand with his own, moving slightly, feeling pain shoot through his body and moaning in discomfort.

"Don't move boy," the same man exclaimed, flicking his hand, "don't try to talk either, you swallowed glass and the cuts could open and start bleeding again."

Wondering what was going on, Troy lifted his fingers to his eyes but the man stopped him, "we had to sew them shut too, there was a lot of glass damage, but I think that they'll be just fine when you leave. I suppose you want to know more about your injuries?"

Catching on quickly, Troy squeezed the man's hand.

"Besides cuts and bruises, you have a concussion and a fractured arm," the man informed him with a sigh, "you were quite lucky kid."

He still didn't remember what had happened, so he squeezed the man's hand harder.

"Here, I'll get you a note pad that you can scribble anything down on," Troy heard him leave and waited patiently for him to come back with the note pad, "just write something."

Quickly, Troy wrote down what he wanted to know and handed the note to the doctor to read aloud, "What happened? You don't remember? They told me you left without telling your parents and went to a party-"

And Troy remembered everything as the doctor explained that it was a week ago that day.

Rocking out to his music in his new double-door GM truck, letting any worries that ever ran through his mind, free. Troy Bolton himself was free, invincible in his intoxicated mind; his blood alcohol concentration exceeding twice the legal limit of .8, leaving him at a dangerous driving concentration of 1.6. Things appeared as doubles to him and his singing to the music was so slurred you couldn't identify what the words were. Being so under the influence, he had slowed reactions and everything happened incredibly fast. As he swerved down the main street of Albuquerque carelessly, another car seemingly popped out of nowhere; he couldn't see through the headlights and at 85 MPH, Troy Bolton hit the small, red car head on, and passed out.

"Troy?" he heard, "Troy," was repeated.

"Hm?" he hummed quietly to the doctor.

"I'm going now," the doctor grabbed his hand and squeezed it, but Troy wouldn't let him quite yet and wrote something down on the note.

"What happened to the other person?" the doctor read from the note and stared at the boy in front of him, he didn't look like the drunken neglected kid that chose to drink and drive, "It's not my place to tell you, I'm sorry." And he left.

"Troy," his head snapped to the side where the familiar voice came from, "Troy I'm glad you're ok," it was his mother, "we're going to talk about this when you're better."

Troy just showed the note to his mother that he had asked the doctor, "Troy, she was killed on impact."

And his life continued it's downward spiral that it had been falling in his whole life.

"You have to go to court," another voice was heard, it was his dad, "you killed her Troy."

And what did Troy Bolton do when he received the news? He cried. He cried for the woman he killed, he cried for disappointing his parents, and he cried that his life wasn't taken too.