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He walked out of his house, down the hill and towards the General store. He started to think, he thought about his life, and about his death. He wondered how he would die; he wondered how he wanted to die. But he thought he already knew.

The car at the top of the hill’s break line would break. It would roll slowly, gaining speed gradually. It would roll mostly straight. When it hit its maximum speed it would jump up onto the curb making a loud noise. He would look behind him to see what the sound was, and he would watch the car hit him. He wouldn’t roll over it, no, he’d roll right under it. The front tire would roll over his leg, and the back tire would run over his waist, popping it like a balloon, spilling his guts out onto the sidewalk in a bright pattern of splattered blood, his leg was now broken in 2 places. He never made any sound of pain. He lay there broken and bleeding, his blood soaking into the cement, painting it a deep shade of red. He heard others nearby scream and yell, but he never made a sound. The sirens were now in the distance, and getting closer faster, even though he felt ever agonizing moment, he never made a sound. He felt the warm flowing as his blood ran down his body. They dragged him onto the ambulance, and he felt the drugs course through him, he felt the ease of pain, but there was no sense of relief time flew by and he was in the hospital, I heard his mother crying, he heard his father swearing, but that’s not what was important. Then he felt nothing.

He heard a sound behind him, but he didn’t have to look up to know what it was.