The end of the world started the day I got in that cab. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start from the beginning.

I was born in Mercy Hospital, New York, New York. Too far back? Thought so.

My name is Kimberley Crawford. I was born in New York, raised in New York, and am a current resident of New York. But call me that, you'll see just what I have learned about fighting while living in New York.

I live with my mom and step-dad in a cramped two bedroom house. I also share a room with my little sister, Mayzy.

She's an angel, but don't let that fool you. When the parents are gone, the halo comes off, and the devil horns come out. I talk from experience.

When I don't do what she says, she'll lie down on the ground and scream. Then blame me for pushing her. That's Mayzy, the eight-year old death of me.

I used to have an older brother, Luke. He disappeared about a week after I was born.

My parents say he felt abandoned and ran away. My friends say he ran away for some reason that had nothing to do with me, to make me feel better. The bullies at school say I killed him.

What do I believe happened to him? Who knows?

But back to the cab.

It started as a normal day. I left my dad's house after our ordinary fight over a boy at school who can be even blinder than a blind man. I mean, get a clue! He gives me the worst advice, as always.

I cart wheeled to the door, just because he hates that, and stepped outside. I turned around and screamed yet another insult at him. Then I slammed the door, breaking the 12th one this year. New record.

I marched down the street, ripping off one of those stupid plastic flags from a mailbox, biting off the end. Note to self: add to collection.

I walked down the oh-so familiar street. I saw the old lady who never mows her lawn so it looks like a forest has grown around it.

She used to have a man who came to cut her lawn twice a week. I was walking past him on the way to the store when he quit.

"I quit!" He screamed getting into his van. I was walking past him and he drove by me.

"Wait! Her lawn will grow as long as her mustache. Please, just mow her effing lawn."

"She's one charred cookie too late! Tell the old hag, I quit!" He yelled back to me.

'Oops.'

Now her lawn is taller than her. She was about to sit in her chair that was broken in half, as she did so many times. She called to me for some cookies. I pointed to my watch, motioning that I had somewhere to get to, instead of eating coal and water with flies in it.

She misunderstood me. She looked on the clock that had been oddly placed outside, and called out the time. I sighed.

I did the 'look at that fake thing I'm pointing at' thing. And she fell for it. I laughed as I jogged away.

I walked into town, maybe half a mile away. Tired, as always, I called for a cab. It showed up maybe 10 minutes later. I got in and told him the address of my house.

"Are you sure you have enough money for that kiddo? That's a long way…" He raised his eyebrows at me. I rolled my eyes at the same thing I get every time I get into a cab. Cab drivers are totally blatant.

I buckled my seat belt and sat back. The driver was still looking for me in the mirror.

"What are you waiting for?" I growled, a little meaner than intentioned.

"Sorry, you look like… never mind." He shook his head and started the car. Blatant.

He drove away from the city and into the boring country. Cows grazing, pigs snorting, farmers being attacked by sheep. Yup, boring.

We stopped at the small drawbridge. A few cars on each side of us, and some in the front.

"Uh oh…" The cab driver breathed under his breath. He looked into the rearview mirror.

"What?" I asked.

"Famulas…" He whispered, still looking out the front, as if he wasn't scaring me half to death.

"What are farmulas? What's going on?" I asked. He flipped around to look at me.

"You tell me…" He said and turned back to the front, hitting the gas. I screamed as he swerved toward the bridge that was just lowering. We made it to the middle as it was only few feet away from the other bridge.

I flipped around to see a few black vans with black tinted windows doing the same thing.

"What's going to happen?" The cab driver asked.

"What are you talking about? What's going to happen?" I said with an unsteady voice. He swerved around, trying to get around the vans which were gaining speed.

"December 13, 2012. What's going to happen? What are you going to do?" He screamed, head jerking from me, the wheel, the mirror, to the vans and back to me.

"I'm probably gonna have a sleep over with my friends." I said, and then it hit me.

"How do you know my birthday?" I asked. He shrugged his shoulders. Either putting it off because it was bad or saying that he was upset he didn't get an invite. I'm gonna go with option 1.

He sighed, as if he had a bad thought. He reached his hand over to the glove box and pulled out an old paper. He shoved it in my arms and slowed down some.

"Roll down your window." He said quietly, as if someone would hear him over my screaming.

"Why?" I asked. As if I would listen.

"Do it!" He screamed. I did what I was told. Hey, you would too if you saw the face he gave me.

"But…" I was cut off by the cab driver's flick of his wrist. He turned the steering wheel to the right and rammed through the guardrail, the one that's supposed to keep cars from plunging into the water. But I think that it made more damage with it there than without it.

The car flew a few feet before I fully understood what was happening, and started screaming.

"Brace yourself!" said the cab driver. I responded something real intelligent back.

"Ahhhhh!" Once we hit the water, the driver pushed me out the open window. I slipped outside the seatbelt that was unloosened around me once underwater. I kicked and waved my arms to try and get to the surface.

When I was finally able to breathe again, I realized that the cab driver wasn't next to me trying to explain what just happened, because I needed to know.

I held my breath and dove down for the headlights, barely visible within the murky abyss. I made it about 2 feet before I swallowed a gallon of water and resurfaced.

I dove back down but couldn't see the headlights or the car. He was gone.

I bobbed to the top of the water and looked up to the bridge. Many people were around the edge screaming, talking into cell phones, and looking around for the car, as if it would suddenly resurface, with us inside saying, "Yeah, we do this every day here in New York!"

But a few men looking calm, cool, and collected stood out. They wore all black, coats, ties, shirts, pants, socks, shoes, and as far as I could tell, they all wore sunglasses. They all look like they had the personality to fit their outfit.

As if they were thinking, 'Stupid kid falling off a bridge! I'm gonna be late!'

I swam closer to one of the pillars, and saw a rusty looking ladder hanging off of it. It spiraled all the way to the top, minus the parts that had been unattached from the structure.

'If I survive this staircase, I will personally go to my father, and give him a hug.' I thought. The staircase held up as much as I thought it would. In other words, not at all.

'Well, that worked…" I thought to myself sarcastically.

'Where's another ladder when you need one?' I flopped away from the falling pieces of metal. After what seemed like the 53rd ladder, I found one that could actually withstand my weight.

Hey, I'm not fat, don't get me wrong. I weigh as much as an ordinary 12 year old should.

I almost fell maybe once, twice, maybe 12 times. I could just imagine my guy best friend, Jack, saying something that would make me punch him to hide the fact that I might like him.

"Come on Lai. Get your butt up to the top. If you die, I'll kill you." I could just imagine him smirking at me. He always called me Lai, because of my hatred for my first name.

At the top, I realized that there were no bystanders waiting to take me to the hospital. But there were the people in all black.

'Famulas.' The cab driver had called them. All of them were getting into their black vans; the ones that matched that matched themselves.

"… now for the family." was the last thing said by them as they all got into their cars and drove off. What do they want? Why did they chase us? What were they after? Why did the driver drive off the bridge? What happened to that paper?

I reached into my soaking wet pocket and pulled out the surprisingly readable letter. I looked at the front of and envelope, and saw nothing on the front. I opened it and took out a piece of parchment.

It was weird, because the envelope was new, and the letter looked old.

The first sentence makes me wet the bed to this very day.

Dearest Lailia Crawford,
the end of the world is closer than we had hoped, and you are the one to save it.