There I was, standing at the edge of the railroad on the busiest street in the city. Dark, night, no one would see me. The reflectors fell off my bike months ago. I hop off and lean it against a bench, almost chaining it up without thinking about what I’m doing. Will it really matter that my bike’s stolen when I’m dead? I start humming to myself and debating when to go.

Now.
NOW.
NOW!!!

But I can’t make my feet move. I think about running out over and over and over, but I can’t. I’m going to miss laying in the grass after school and watching the clouds. I’m gonna miss singing at choir. I’m going to miss my friends, but I’ve got to do this. It’s just not worth it anymore.

Put one foot in front of the other. I step into the street. Then I move the other foot. Then the other. And again. Laying down would give them less of a chance to see me. I crouch down, just in case. Then it comes. A van shoots down the road heading straight for me.