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Car
“You see that picture over there?” I nod. “That's her. Wasn't she pretty?” Once again, all I can do is nod and look at him. I have no idea what to say – it's a lot harder to think clearly with a gun pointed at you. The thoughts are racing through my mind, I only have a few seconds to decide what to say. “You know, she always loved you”, I finally manage to whisper. I don't know what he is thinking, he's just staring at me with that crazy, scary glance in his eyes. “I didn't mean to hurt her! It was an accident!” I shout in desperation. I know it's a lame excuse, but after all it's true. It was an accident, a really bad one, though. I know it was my fault, everything was my fault! Why did I have to get into that car?! Why not just walk – that would have cost me a few more minutes, and now I'll probably have only a few minutes more to live. “See, you have to believe me: I was drunk and careless! Just a stupid teenager, trying to impress the others!”

“And you think that's gonna change anything? You think it'll bring her back to life? In what kind of world do you live in?! She's dead and nothing will change it!”

“So why would killing another person will make life better?”

“You don't understand! She would be alive if it wasn't for you! She'd be sitting right next to me, reading, watching TV, being there! Not lying dead on the street, being photographed by the police! And why do you deserve life more than her? She never did harm to anybody! And what are you? A stupid little teenager, who can't wait until he's sober again to drive! No, you had to take that car!”

I know he's right, of course he's right, but what am I supposed to do? I already feel guilty, desperate, devastated, it would take me hours to list every single feeling! What is he thinking? That I'm not gonna miss her? That I'll live happily ever after without thinking about her? Ha, that would be great, wouldn't it? But I won't forget! Never. It will be in my mind every day, every minute, every second of my life! What kind of life is that supposed to be? “You know, you can kill me, if you want to”, I tell him. “It won't make any difference. But It will make a difference to my family, my parents, my sister. They are going to suffer from something that I have done. They are not responsible for anything of this. And neither are you – but you're gonna waste the rest of your life in jail, thinking about the biggest mistake of your life. Do you really want that?” Slowly he lowers the gun and looks at me. His gaze has changed, it's not longer angry, it's just sad. Desperate maybe, but mostly filled with grief. “Get out of here” he whispers. I slowly stand up. “Get outta here! Leave my house and never come back!” his voice is getting louder and louder, he picks up a chair and throws it after me. I run to the door, as fast as I can and slam it behind me. As I feel the cold air on my face I can here the policemen shouting, the neighbours crying and the lights blinking. What have I done?

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