The night air chilled him as he walked out of the home. The sky was black and dark, no sign of any stars as he strolled down the road, the wind making his coat drift in the breeze. It rained earlier, and the leaves were moist and didn't crunch under his feet. The roads were slick, the lights being reflected on the surface. He was warned on the TV that drivers were to be cautious on the road, as they were slippery. There were already some wrecks on a highway down south of here. But he ignored those warnings, as he didn't had a car yet, and winter was coming, so he might as well wait on getting one for a while. Other than his coat, he was not well dressed for this weather. He only wore an Alice in Chains shirt with jeans, and his coat was only a leather jacket. It was the only jacket his new mother could afford, but he appreciated it. A light jacket was better than no jacket, he told himself.
A half hour passed before he was in the downtown district of Winona county. He recently got a girlfriend while he was out roaming the streets, named Camille. He thought she was a sweetheart, and pretty hot too. She wanted to meet him in a club in the downtown area and "hang out". He hated clubs, as he detested the idea of getting drunk and awkwardly dancing in a crowded place, but he didn't want to tell her his opinion of those places. He just told her he would meet her there at 8.
And it was 7:35. The club was still a ways off. He had to hurry.
Winona wasn't particularly busy this night. Of course it wasn't, he was going out to party on a Sunday night. He saw a few people walking into bars that weren't closed this night, cars roaming and stopping along the lanes. He basked in the warm glow of an amber streetlight as he waited for the electronic sign to say WALK. The lights were still green, so the cars rode on; their panes sparkled with little dots of rain in the lights.
The sign still had a red flashing DON'T WALK. He wanted the cars to hurry up and get out of the lane. He thought he would only have a few minutes to spare before he would get there on time. He was usually late for meetings and appointments and dates, but he told himself "not this time". Not this time.
There were people gathering near the tavern, talking about their job and life and kids. It was probably becoming busy because it was the only tavern open. But he heard it was also a place where kids were allowed to eat at the family side of the room. So that was probably why it wasn't closed down.
The last car drove away, the water splashing near the tires. The electronic sign finally had a white beacon of light that said WALK.
Finally he thought, as he prepared to walk through the glittering streets. People on the other side of the street noticed him and waved. He waved back, but wasn't in the mood for a nicety conversation. He began to briskly step his way to the other side. He told himself to hurry up.
But then he stopped.
He saw headlights coming nearer, and they were approaching. Fast. The lights above him were yellow, but this car seemed to be going at a speed of 90 mph. It was swerving too, on the account of the rainy streets.
"Get out of the way, kid! That driver is out of his mind! Move!" a man yelled at him. But he seemed to be deaf and blind as a deer near headlights, frozen in fear.
It only took 15 seconds for him for him to turn from standing to being a bloodied, broken mess.
The car collided with him, feeling his lungs, his stomach, nearly his entire body, becoming red hot with pain, feeling the force crushing him as if he was lying underneath an elephant. 10 seconds later, the car swerved over the curb and clashed into the side of a bricked building, the front of the car pounded to a wrinkled jarred face and the window shattering to small, fragmented pieces of glass, raining on the curb, the driver, and the teenager. An air bag was deployed, but the man's face was too cut up from the glass, bleeding from his jugular and face. It was futile, as he was bleeding to death, and he would soon be dead before help would arrive. But all he could see was a black void. He didn't even realize what happened.
The teenage boy could barely move. He knew his bones were shattered. He knew his organs were bleeding. His face was also cut from the explosion of glass. His breathing was bubbled, as he felt his lungs and mouth fill with blood.
He saw people surrounding him. He heard a man dialing his phone, calling 911. But he kept fading in and out of consciousness, as if he was drowning in a black sea. He couldn't think of anything else but the incredible amount of pain he was in. And he also knew even if the paramedics came, they would take him to the hospital too late. He knew he was going to die.
He felt as if an eternity passed as the ambulance and the paramedics came. There were some that examined the driver, and some that was coming to the boy. Even if he was slowly drifting away, he screamed as they took his body on the stretcher. But he couldn't think of any words to tell them to stop. Not even a no please.
But the pain soon numbed. He could feel himself becoming unconscious. Or he was dying. He knew he couldn't lie to himself.
They were bandaging his bloodied body, treating him, but it was useless to him. He could feel himself going away, to a place that only the deceased roamed.
"Boy, what's your name? Can you at least say your name?" the paramedic asked him, his face and all the other faces becoming a blurry mess of blobs. He wasn't sure who was talking to him. Maybe it was God.
"Klay…" His throat made his voice nearly inaudible, but the man knew what he said.
"My name is…Klay Barton."
The blurs began to fade, becoming darker, until he was in a void. His heart stopped, his breathing stopped, and his brain was shut down.
Klay Barton, an 18 year old man living with his adoptive mother, Renee Lancaster, died that night from a drunken driver. When the ambulance arrived, they were too late, and the driver was also dead by the time they arrived to the hospital.
Renee was sending to the children to bed. John was hyperactive that night, as Renee announced to him that he was going through the adoption process and would soon meet his new parents. She was very happy for him. Maybe he would be with a great family like Schiza's.
Her cell phone rang as soon as she shut the bedroom lights. It was a number she didn't recognize, but she answered.
"Hello? Who's this?"
"Hello Renee. I'm Dr. Binstein of St. Joseph's Hospital, and…I'm afraid I have…terrible news."
St. Joseph's Hospital. Oh God, this wasn't good. Not at all. "What happened?" she asked, her voice sounding grim.
"We have your son, Klay Barton, in the emergency room. He was walking in the streets an hour ago and a drunk driver collided with him. As soon as he arrived in the hospital…" He paused. "Renee, I'm sorry. Your son, Klay Barton, is dead."
The doctor could only hear dead silence, and he thought he could hear the sound that cell phones made when they were suddenly dropped.
Renee paid no attention to the doctor saying, "Hello? Renee? Are you still there?" She was utterly and completely broken, and she began to loudly sob.
