I Will Not Die Today by Jenna Marie (phonics story books .txt) 📕

Before I had even received my driver’s license, I had a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that driving would be what brings about the end of my life. Either being in the car or being the one behind the wheel, I knew that I would one day die in a crash.
It’s mid-January, and I’m walking to my car after school. It’s midterm week, but that isn’t the only thing on my mind. I nervously pull the keys out of my pocket and open my car. I sit down inside and put the keys in the ignition, telling myself repeatedly that I’m not going to die today. I will live to tomorrow. I will not die today.
I pull out of the parking space below a snow-covered tree and shift gears. I take off through the parking lot and make it to the exit.
So far, so good.
Still alive.
I take a deep breath and pull out onto the wet, hard, and unforgiving pavement and drive down the street. I look around.
No cars on the road. Maybe I’m just too lucky today.
I figured that there might not be anyone on the road for a while, so I picked up speed. I was used to driving on wet roads in the winter—living in New York State during this season gives you a lot of practice.
It is going to take me twenty minutes to get home, I tell myself. But I already know that. I drive this far every day; to and from school.
You won’t die today, Cori. You won’t die.
My eyes drift to the opposite side of the double yellow line. No cars. No anything. It’s just me and the icy road. My hands tighten on the wheel as if I’m trying to gain more control of my car. The road bends right, and I go with it. Then it twists to the left. And to the right again.
I’m driving at about forty-five miles per hour, slightly overconfident in the fact that I’m not sharing the road with anyone else.
Turn right.
Drive straight.
Turn left.
The bare tree limbs bend over the road, the occasional breeze blowing a dusting of snow down to cover the street.
I straighten out again. I’ll be like this for a while. So I pick up speed.
Fifty miles per hour.
Fifty –five miles per hour.
You’re okay, Cori. There’s no one else on the road.
You won’t die. Not today.
I dare a glimpse at my charging phone. No cell reception on this road. So even if I did get hurt, I couldn’t contact anyone. But at least my mom knows where I am. She would come looking for me if I took too long. I would be found. I would be taken to a hospital. I wouldn’t die.
I approach a parked police cruiser on the side of the road. I slow down as I pass it.
Forty miles per hour.
I pass the car. Two minutes later, I speed up again.
Still no one on the road.
Sixty miles per hour.
My hands flexed on the wheel. The suspense alone just might be enough to kill me. Who said I had to die in a crash? Maybe my feeling was wrong. Maybe I’ll just die in the car, and then crash.
I take a deep breath to calm myself.
I drive for another few minutes, thinking about nothing but crashing. I occasionally whisper to myself. “Nothing is going to happen. You’ll be fine, Cori. You’re a good driver.” But it all depends on the other driver, doesn’t it? But there’s no one on the road, Cori. Nothing will happen to you.
I speed down the road and fly up and over a small hill. I feel my stomach rise and then drop uncomfortably.
I turn on the radio and blast it. I need to take my mind off of things.
I start to sing along quietly to one of the songs while the threat of a crash still echoes through my head.
Slow down a little.
Turn right.
Straighten out.
Speed up again.
Ten minutes go by and I’m still alive and alone.
You’re getting closer to town, Cori. Be careful, now. There might be more people on the road.
At least there might be more than one person.
Another few minutes pass. And still no sign of anyone else. And I definitely went the right way. Like I said before, I drive this road twice almost every day. But I have never seen it this empty. On a normal day, I would have passed about fifteen cars by now. It’s ominous how there isn’t anyone here today.
It’s just me and my car.
By ourselves, driving home from school.
You’re perfectly fine, Cori. Perfectly fine.
You can make it home, Cori. You can make it home in one piece.
I have to get home and study, I remind myself. Go home and study for tomorrow’s midterm.
What if I don’t live to see tomorrow?
Don’t say that, Cori. You will make it home safely.
I’m driving straight again, going up and over small hills that the road passes over. Each time I go over one, my stomach flips strangely.
I’m finally approaching the largest hill yet that I have to go over. Once I’m past it, five minutes until I reach home. I make my way toward the hill, turning up the volume on the radio as I go. I pick up speed also.
Sixty-two miles per hour.
Well, the speed limit is sixty-five. I’m still okay.
I fly up the side of the hill. I begin to reach the top. I can just see the roof of a truck coming toward me.
Finally someone else on the road.
I make sure to stay precisely where I am in the road so I don’t drift into the other lane and get hit.
I pull over the top of the hill.
The truck isn’t on the left side of the road.
It’s in the center, right on the double yellow line.
Headed directly into my car.
I don’t even have the chance to swerve or break or do anything.
My car basically shatters around me. The windshield explodes into bits of glass, each as small as a raindrop. The shards tear at my face, my eyes, my clothing, and my hands.
The airbags don’t even have the chance to open.
My legs break immediately as the combined force of the truck and the speed of my car force the front section of the car into the front seats, basically turning it inside out.
My arms go next as the truck rams into me. I don’t even have time to scream. I can’t move my legs and I can’t stomp on the break. But that wouldn’t do anything at this point.
The wheel is forced at my chest. My ribs shatter. My blood-covered body is completely crushed and my head slumps forward onto the steering wheel—the piece of the car that is trying to become part of my body.

Merely five minutes from home now, Cori.
But you’re not fine anymore, Cori.
You just died in a car crash.

Images: Google
Publication Date: 08-12-2012

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