This is what happened to me. Please don't drink and drive.
A few people in this world don't take their life for granted. They understand that time is short and you have only a set amount of time on this earth. I am one of those people. It was March 6th, and I was only 6 years old. My parents by this time had divorced and it was my first weekend with my father. My friend Nicole Wilder, (who was 10), and I were upstairs playing tea party and then we went outside to sled down the stairs. The snow made it easy to do so. Next, we came inside and the adults were drinking including my father. I was too young to know the effects alcohol had on mankind. Its foul stench was in the air. Little did I know what awaited me. I remember my father had to bribe Nicole and myself to get in the car, because for whatever reason I did not want to. We went to the store and I bought caramel with the money he had given me for going. We got back in the red Toyota and went home. It was snowing March, 6th. My father had put me in the middle seat belt with no shoulder strap. I was only a sweet six year old girl, happily eating her caramel. BOOM! The next thing I remember is blood dripping down my face, blood just everywhere. Nicole was hysterically sobbing and crying my name.
Then everything went black. Was I dead? Well to be frank, yes I was dead. You see beer and driving is never a good mix. My dad was an offender of drinking and driving. What had happened was he hit into a telephone pole. He was as drunk as a skunk. Meanwhile, I was sitting in the middle so I went forward and my face hit the console, which is the piece that lifts up usually in between the front seats. My whole right side of my face ripped off, leaving me unconscious. On top of that, the caramel that I was eating got stuck in my throat and caused me to stop breathing. By the time the paramedics got there, I was pronounced dead on the scene. A little six year old girl dead by the hands of her own father, dead by the means of a drink adults love, dead by the force of a red Toyota hitting a telephone pole, dead and never got to live her life.
Of course I'm alive now. Some paramedic refused to let a six year old die, he did not give up. He tried and tried, until finally there was life again. I have beaten death, but been abused by its wrath. No six year old, or anyone for that matter, deserves to go through what happened to me. I had 50 stitches on the outside of my face and over 100 on the inside of my face. So many stitches the doctors lost count of them all. I was scarred for life. The other people in the car didn't even get a scratch on them. They were lucky, they were safe. On the other hand, I was half dead. You may wonder what happened to my father. Well nothing happened to him. He walked away from it all, he never even apologized. Yeah sure, kill your kid and walk merrily away. To this day he is a well hated man. I don't know who hates him more though, myself or all of my friends for what he did. In all honesty, the pain from that crash doesn't end there.
After the crash I had to repeat first grade, which was very unpleasant. I won't go much into the six years of my school life before escaping it. But know that I hated it. I hated school so much and I'll tell you why. No the work wasn't too complicated, math always got me, but I was quite good with English. Nope, what I hated was the kids and teachers. No one properly understood me. How could they? The car accident had heightened my learning disabilities and made them worse. I had post traumatic stress syndrome, and everyone made fun of me. The one thing I truly learned, the world was cruel.