“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.” Poppy stared at Miguel desperately. She drank the sight of him in, knowing that she didn't deserve it. His messy brown hair, beautiful hands, and everything she loved about him.
"An accident?" Miguel crossed his arms in front of his chest as if to protect himself.
"Yes. I - I never meant to do anything. I thought - I wasn't thinking, I just, I was afraid and I wasn't thinking straight - or at all, and I'm sorry, please." Poppy rambled on. Miguel watched her distantly as if she was a stranger, not a girl whom he had once loved. Who loved him. The party went on in the room next door, disregarding that both of their hearts were breaking. And in one room, was Leo, the unquestionably handsome soccer player that seemed right out a book who, just moments ago, Poppy had kissed.
"You kissed Leo," Miguel said practically. As if he was asking her to pass the salt. "Did you not?"
"I, " Poppy crumbled. Saying it made it so much more real. It did happen. "I did."
Miguel's face dropped a fraction. He drained his red solo cup and sighed. Without warning, he winded his hand back and flung it at the wall. Poppy flinched. She realized tears were dripping down her cheeks, mixed with her mascara and lipstick.
"I didn't mean to. Every part of me still loves you. I didn't mean to kiss him, I am still all yours. The kiss doesn't stand for anything. It was a mistake. Kisses don't mean anything. I'm in love with you. Leo is no one to me. I made a mistake and I didn't mean to, please," Poppy was rambling. She didn't know how to explain when Leo had reached over behind the wall to her shoulder and brought their lips to meet, Poppy hadn't felt an attraction. She'd kissed him, for some reason she didn't know, but it was nothing compared to kissing Miguel. Miguel made her heart jump and cry out and fall in love again. Kissing Leo was like kissing a statue. She was in love and would be in love with Miguel for a long time. Her actions didn't match how she truly felt.
"Poppy." Miguel stepped towards her. There was something off in his stride. Poppy flinched back.
"Please." He took another step, lightly. He glanced at her, uncertain, and Poppy flashed back to when she had first kissed him. They had been at a party, in another room after one of their mutual friends had passed out. Poppy had been trying to prevent their friends from falling when Miguel had helped and accidentally brushed into her. They had laughed and that's when Poppy realized her friend was okay, but she was falling. And as they say, the rest is history.
Miguel and Poppy had been going steady for two years now. And so, Poppy let Miguel take another step forward.
"Poppy," Miguel repeated. He closed the distance between them until Miguel rested his hand on Poppy's waist ever so gently and he brushed away her tear.
He kissed her. And Poppy felt it again, the butterflies, and explosives in her mind silencing everything else, the way nothing else seemed to matter. Miguel grabbed her hair like he had done a thousand times and whispered her name over and over again until Poppy couldn't think.
And then suddenly he pulled back. He stepped away, his eyes still distant. Poppy stumbled for a second.
"I had to do that," Miguel explained. Poppy could hear the breaking in his voice. She knew this was goodbye. "You said kisses don't mean anything, so I hope you won't mind I needed just one more." He turned away. He took two uncertain steps away from her. At the end of room, he turned back to face her, heartbreak written on his face.
"I love you Poppy, and maybe you love me, but maybe it was all an accident."
It was an accident
"It was an accident. It was a mistake." Brandon, my bestfriend's boyfriend, kept saying. I knew it was bullshit and I couldn't believe my bestfriend, Clara, believed him. This was the 8th time and I was sick of it.
"I know baby. I know you didn't mean it. I knew that bitch kissed you first." Clara said wrapping her arms around him. 'That bitch' was Madison. Madison is Brandon's ex-girlfriend. Brandon tried to hide his smirk but I could see. "Sure she did." I said under my breath.
"Did you say something Lara?" Brandon glared at me. "No." I replied. He knew that I knew he was cheating. Whenever I tried to tell Clara he would lie about it.
Hours later I tried to tell her again.
"He's cheating on you Clara." I said. She sniffled and looked away. "I have proof this time." I pulled out my phone. She pushed my hand away. "I know Lara. I know." She started crying.
"I don't know how many of these 'accidents' I can take." She said. I wrapped her in a hug. The truth was, I loved her. I did not Brandon!
It was an accident.
That's what he said.
It was an accident
It was an accident
That's why I planned his death.
So it would be an accident.
Clara didn't know about this. She didn't have to.
I followed him home.
He was going to pay.
He was going to pay.
I snuck in his house and grabbed the biggest knife he had. "Who's there? I got a bat and I'm not afriad to use it!" I heard him. He was close.
He hit me.
"What the hell? Lara? What are you doing?" Then I jumped on him.
"It was an accident." I said.
"What the hell Lara?! What was an accident?"
Then I stabbed him.
It was an accident.
It was an accident
And again and again.
For you Clara.
We'd finally be to gether forever.
"Lara? WHAT THE HELL?" Clara said.
I didn't even notice her.
"It was an accident." I said.
"A happy accident for you Clara. For us."
Trouble From the Other Side
“It was an accident! I swear!” Ivor begged. “I didn’t mean to have bookcase almost crush the Williams to death.”
I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “Sure. Just like you didn’t mean to throw that chair at the Andersons last week. Or didn’t mean to have the flacet flow in reverse when the Smiths were testing the water.” I held my face in my hands. “I’ve been trying to sell this house for two years! Can you just please give me a break for once?”
Ivor pouted as he hovered a couple of inches above the floor. “Why you trying to sell this house anyway? Huh? It’s mine! I don’t want any roommates!”
“This isn’t your house anymore!” I screamed. “You died five years ago!”
In shock, his mouth gaped open. “Oh sure! Drop the d-word! Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean my feelings are!”
I glared at his semi-transparent body. “Listen, I have another family coming in three hours.” I stuck my finger in his face--well, partly through his face that is. “Do not mess this up.”
Ivor whistled. “Wow, two familes in one day for this haunted wreck. That’s impressive.”
Grinning, I added. “Only because I’m the best damn real estate agent you’ll ever meet.”
And I’m going to sell this house. Whether Ivor and his ghost ass like it or not.
Standing in front of the mirror, I straightened the collar of my pantsuit. “Let’s do this,” I told myself as I opened the doors for the Pattersons--my five o’clock.
I stretched a huge, fake smile across my face. “Welcome!” I greeted.
Skeptically, the Pattersons crossed the threshold with their only daughter tucked tightly in between their arms. “Oh, hello,” Mrs. Patterson greeted.
She glanced around nervously. I felt my smile falter for a split second. Great, rumor must have already reached them.
“To be honest.” She clutched her daughter tighter. “We weren’t really sure if we were going to keep today’s tour because--”
“We heard this place was haunted,” Mr. Patterson finished. “But this house was so cheap compared to the others on the market…” Because it’s haunted, but go on. “So we decided to just check it out.”
“Don’t be silly! There’s no such thing are ghosts.” I said, hoping my smile was convincing enough.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ivor grinning like the idiot he was. I shot him a you-are-so-dead-if-you-do-anything look. He shot back a I-already-am look. Wise ass.
“Cookies!” The daughter exclaimed as she sniffed the air.
I clapped my hands together and ignored Ivor. “Yes!” I said. “I was just making some cookies in the kitchen. If you just follow me…”
Quickly, I lead them away from the scheming Ivor. I held out a plate of fresh baked cookies for the little girl. A pro-tip is to always bake some before a tour. The smell of fresh cookies makes it truly feel like home. Mr. and Mrs. Patterson even snagged a few for themselves. They calmed down after a few bites of sugary bless. Alright, Christie, you’ve snagged them. Now lock it down.
I ran my hand over the top of the oven and began my speel. “This kitchen is equipped with all the latest appliances. Including the 2019 model GE double oven which I used to bake these cookies. It has 6.6 cubic feet of capacity… ”
As I began to open the oven doorn to show them, a flame burst out from the back. I slammed it shut, sealed the fire inside, and blocked the door with my body before the Pattersons could notice. Ivor!
Quickly, I diverted their attention to the fridge. “But over here we have the 2018 model…”
Leading them like a flock of sheep, I took the Pattersons into the living room and eyed the bookcase by the back corner. “Don’t worry,” Ivor said as he floated through the wall to my side. “I never repeat myself. I’m original like that.”
“Did the temperature suddenly drop?” Mrs. Patterson asked as she rubbed her arms.
I clenched my teeth. Either blame a faulty thermostat or the ghost beside me. Either option makes this house less desirable.
Sometimes, I wish I wasn’t the only person who could see him and deal with his crap. All day. Every day.
“It’s freezing in here,” Mr. Patterson muttered. He stared in front of his face, almost crossing his eyes to look at the puff of grey air coming from his mouth. “Is that my breath? How cold is it in here?”
“I don’t feel a thing!” I lied. Well, partly lied. Underneath my pantsuit, I was wearing fleece long johns. You have to prepare for these kind of things, you know?
“Off I go!” Ivor cheered with a smirk as he floated upstairs.
A symphony of creaks soon followed his disappearance. “What’s that?!” Mrs. Patterson demanded with a look of twisted fright on her face. “I knew it! This place is haunted!”
She sprinted towards the door with her husband and daughter. I grabbed her sleeve. “Mrs. Patterson, wait! There is no such thing as ghosts!” Just as I told her that, a few books started flying off the bookcase, encircling the room as their pages flipped with wild abandon. Cockily, Ivor floated in the air in circles with them as he read the dictionary upside down. Like I won’t notice.
He was making a game of this!
Shrieking now, Mrs. Patterson yanked herself free and hustled her family out of the house and into their cramped mini van parked out front. She slammed on the accelerator as I called out. “Wait!”
But they didn’t. They never do.
And I was left alone with Ivor once again.
He drifted up beside me with a crooked grin on his face. “I think that was a new personal best.”
I picked up a book and throw it at his face in frustration. It went straight look and banged against the wall, knocking off several pictures frames with stock photos. “What’s got your long johns in a twist?” Ivor teased.
“You do!” I shouted. “I have bills to pay, you know! My rent went up by thirty percent! But you’re trashing my business!”
“I told you I don’t want anyone to move in here!”
“What does it matter? It’s not like they’ll bug you! I’m the only one who can see you, remember?”
“Exactly! You’re the only person I can talk to! If you sell the house, then you’ll leave me!”
“Keep this shit up.” I gestured to the wreck of a living room. “And I won’t even bother to sell the house before I leave,” I growled.
Without a second thought, I stormed out. Ivor was trying to tell me something, but all he got was a door to the face. He didn’t follow me. Not that he could. As a ghost, he was bound to the place he died. Sucks for him.
I retired to the local bar and spend the next five hours drowning my sorrows in beer when… “Christie Athens?” A voice called out.
As I glanced up at her, I immediately recognized her. It was Amelia Anderson who fled from that stupid house about four weeks eariler.
Annnndd, she caught me getting drunk out of my mind. How unprofessional.
“How’s it going?” I said, not really caring about how professional I came off as anymore.
“Just fine, but you?”
“I’ve seen better days.”
“Did you ever sell that haunted house?”
Mrs. Anderson paused, then fiddled with something in her purse. “After my husband and I toured that house, I became convinced that we were cursed or something.”
Nah, Ivor doesn’t have that kind of power. Although, being stuck with him is beginning to feel like a curse.
“So we went to a physic.”
That seems logical, I remarked inside my head.
She handed me a business card. “I know you probably have doubts, but he’s the real deal. If you want to get rid of that ghost problem, I suggest you give him a call.” She stared awkwardly at the numerous empty mugs in front of me. “I have plans so I’ll be going now.”
I snickered at her obvious lie after she left. Staring at the card, I flipped it over a couple of times. Reading and rereading the stupid slogan and telephone number. I sighed. Was I really going to do this? And just ‘get rid of’ Ivor. I slammed the final beer down on the counter before leaving and just going home. I hiccuped and stuffed the card in my coat pocket. Then, I headed home to my freakishly overpriced apartment.
The next morning, I returned to the house with a slight hangover. Ivor stared at me silently as I entered. “You’re back,” he finally said, breaking the silence, but not the tension. “Is there anyone else coming to the house today?”
“Why, so you can figure out in advance how you’re gonna terrorize them?”
Ivor glanced at me, not making eye-contact. He looked kind of sorry for what happened yesterday, but didn’t deny him terrorizing future families. How sorry can he really be if he nevers changes his actions?
I winced and rubbed my temple. Stupid hangover. “What’s wrong?” He asked.
“Not so loud,” I urged.
“I wasn’t loud… wait, are you hungover?”
I gave him the ‘duh’ look. Ivor snapped his fingers, then disappeared into the kitchen. Slowly, I followed him. “What are you doing?” I asked as he cracked a few eggs into a glass.
He handed it to me in response. “Drink it.”
“It’s a hangover cure. I made this like a thousand times back in college.”
I stared at the glass’s grim contents. “I’m gonna pass.”
“Just drink it.”
I gulped, then downed the sick concoction. Instantly, I gagged and almost up-chucked the whole thing. “That was revolting!”
“You’ll thank me later.”
“No, I don’t think I will,” I muttered.
Ivor opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by the same of the front door opening and shutting. “Is that the next family?” He asked.
“Not exactly,” I murmured.
“Ah yes!” A voice shouted in the hallway. “I can feel its presence!”
Ivor and I both peaked past the kitchen to see a man in a knock-off red silk robe with too-thick sunglasses twirling his hands in the air. “Who is this clown?” Ivor said.
I bit my bottom lip. “A physic.”
Ivor’s mouth gaped open in shock. “You called a physic to get rid of me?” He demanded.
“You didn’t leave me a choice! My rent…”
The physic spun to face us. “Ah yes! The evil entity.”
“Evil?” Ivor remarked. “I’ll you what’s evil…”
I held my arm out to stop him. Yeah, like that’ll ever do anything.
“I can feel its presence.” He pointed at a space about a foot left of Ivor. “Right here.”
“Did this moron really call me ‘it’?” Ivor huffed. “And he couldn’t even point at me! This guy is probably a total fake. A real waste of your money. You’re always complaining about rent but you spend crap on this poser?”
“Hey!” The physic snapped, now directly addressing Ivor. “I’m blind not deaf, ghost.”
Ivor scoffed. “So what, he can hear me. Christie can too and she’s not a physic.” He turned to me. “You should get a refund.”
“Shame, I don’t give refunds. So, I guess the only thing I can give her…” He pulled a mini vacuum cleaner with a glass jar in place of a vacuum bag out of his unnecessarily flowy fake silk robe. “Is a house without a ghost.”
Ivor snickered at the pitiful machine. “Really? You think that can get of me.”
“Yes,” the physic said as he flipped the on switch.
Instantly, Ivor’s ghostly essence was trapped in a twister of swirling air as he was funneled into the glass jar. “All done. You can pay me in dollars or donuts.”
I handed him a gift card for Dunkin’ Donuts.
“Toodles!” He cheered as he began to stuff the vacuum back into his robe--Ivor included.
“Wait!” I said, uncertain. “Can you leave me the jar?”
The physic shrugged and handed it over to me before he disappeared. I fiddled with the jar in my hands, glanced at the clock, and sighed. It was a quarter past four. The Masons would be here at five o’clock to tour the house. I rubbed my finger over the bumpy rim of the lid. My eyes stared at the pile of documents for buying the house. Getting those signed could solve every problem I have.
The jar felt ice cold in my hands.
Almost every problem that is.
The next day, I set my coffee mug down on my kitchen table. Slowly, I unscrewed the jar and freed Ivor. He stretched out his back and complained. “Man do you know how cramped it was in there?”
“I can imagine. I’d been living in a tiny apartment for the past two years.”
Ivor sat down next to me. Or at least hovered above the chair in a sitting pose. “So, why’d you release me? Don’t you have other families to tour the house?”
I took a casual slip from my mug. “Nope.”
Staring at me in horror, he exclaimed. “Then you already sold it?!”
I slid him the signed documents. “To me.”
He looked blankly at them. “I don’t understand--what about your rent?”
I smirked. “Turns out, this place is a lot cheaper than that crummy apartment. I don’t know, I heard it was because people think it’s haunted. How crazy is that?”
It was an accident.
The thought echoed across his mind as the blood splattered against his windshield.
His hands shaking, he continued to stare at the crimson marked across his vehicle. Slowly, he moved his hand down towards the lever controlling the windshield wiper. Hesitantly, he clicked it down once.
He knew. Even as he watched the glass smear, he knew it wouldn’t go away.
He was so cheap that he wouldn’t get the windshield wiper pump fixed. A measly 40 bucks. It wasn’t even that hard to replace. He knew that he wouldn’t get someone to replace it. He’d be down another 40 bucks on labor. He would never do that.
Now, he couldn’t see. The lines of the old wiper drew red lines across his vision. What little sight was available was through a thin sheen of clouded burgundy. And another swipe of the wiper only made it worse.
He couldn’t slow down. He knew that was the wrong decision.
He wasn’t right for prison. He knew people who had gone to prison. They were covered in ink and permanent scowls. He was generally pleasant to be around. He couldn’t go around with a scowl. Then, people wouldn’t like him anymore. And work didn’t approve of visible tattoos. They couldn’t be on his neck or sleeve. It was for the customers, they had said.
Now through the red, bright lights shown. Flashing through muck on the glass, it hit his eyes in blinding red light. Then, the lights went to the left and the right circling and turning around his windshield like bright pixies. And, they were gone as fast as they came. The sounds of blaring horns leaked past the generic pop radio.
He had only ever listened to the radio because a female co-worker said that they like 93.5. He needed to seem normal. They never thought of him as normal. Maybe if he listened to that same radio, he would have something to talk with them about. It was always confusing. What was normal? What wasn’t?
The horns came again. This time they were louder. It was as if they were patronizing, accusatory.
His palms were sweaty gripping onto the wheel.
Like a waterfall, tears crept down his face. He didn’t mean to. Oh God! He didn’t mean to.
No! He had to think of anything but the damn red that was clearly in his sight. He didn’t mean it.
Red light leaked into his vision. This time it was brighter than he could have ever imagined.
It was an accident.
It was an accident but she knew that no one else would see it this way. They would blame him for her death, pointing accusing fingers in his direction until his own demise. She had already forgiven him for he had only done what she wanted him to. She had left her parent’s home with exactly one thing on her mind: to get wasted beyond this existence, to somehow feel anything but the ugliness and shame that seemed soul deep.
He had picked her up around 8 that evening expecting to win her heart, not to cause it to stop beating. He had loved her ever since they were small children playing in the sandbox at her house, his parent’s didn’t have enough money to even have a yard. He thought she was beautiful and couldn’t understand why she didn’t see it. He had all intentions in making this woman as happy as he possibly could, he was willing to do whatever it took.
She was all grins in her black sweater dress and sky-blue knee high boots when she saw him waiting in his car curbside. She almost danced a jig walking to him, and pecked him on the cheek as she got inside the passenger seat. She didn’t love him or anyone for that matter. People had only dissapointed her in this world and she was positive that they would continue to do so if allowed. She did find him attractive, kind and a genuinely good person, as far as that goes in this universe, she snickered to herself, knowing that the community had already pegged addicts as anything but “good”.
She did love that he was her ticket to get out of this lame universe, her rollercoaster of highs and lows. She loved how all she had to do was ask him for a pill, or sometimes just look at him and bat her eyelashes. He was putty in her hands, but all she wanted in her hands were chemicals that could stop the pain and ache of constant consciousness.
He handed her the xanax when they turned the corner on their way to a local bar. She gobbled them up in one sip of the stale Coke in his console. He asked her if she should have taken all of them at once, she replied with a giggle, stating she had taken more than that on a good day. He had seen her take methadone and drink all day, see her shoot up heroin and snort a clonopin, why should he have worried about the 50 mg of xanax and whatever else may be in her system - this girl was a boss.
It was later that night, a couple drinks at the bar, she couldn’t necessarily remember anything that happened, just that she needed to lay down, she was so tired. She was so tired of this life, of having to take a pill in order to feel like a normal person, even though it made her the exact opposite. She was just plain tired of it all and the world knew it. Everyone should have known it, if they had known her. She didn’t feel at home and as she fell into a sleep that her body wouldn’t wake from she begged whomever was listening to take her home.
It was an accident. In my opinion, one of possible forboding. From Allison's point of view, it was much more serendipitous one. Perhaps, because without accident, she would not be here, she would not exist, here.
Here she was though and there was no reversing it, not without creating just as chalenging ethical dilemmas. She still doesn't understand why I would want to reverse it. Although, one of the few things we agree about is that all options of reversal would create dilemmas just as great as her existing.
It was an accident, but not without my hubris almost predicting it to occur, in hindsight. The wise sage, would have left things as is. Yet, the apprentice, eager for more knowledge, always feels the need to open yet another door, even if there was a reason it was closed, locked, and the key forever lost long ago.
Allison, or at least the name I use when introducing her tto others, finds my frettings mirthful when we are alone. She teases me that I am lucky she loves me so, otherwise she might decide to go out into the world on her own.
And that is something that cannot happen! The way she could break the world, more than it is already broken would be catastrophic (although, she whole-heartedly disagrees.) A deeper fear though, is if the powers in the world might tame her or break her, that catastrophe would be I fear even worse, for my heart would have broken in a different way.
So for the time being, I try to keep her distracted by teaching her about me and humanity, while I learn about her and her uniqueness. It is perhaps one of the only other things we agree with. The teachings and the lessons.
But the time being is slowly slipping away. Soon such distractions will not be enough. Soon I will not be able to stop what she is capable of doing. She keeps assuring me, by then I will not want to.
With that she smile and laughs, in a way that was anything but accidental.
Want Coffee with That Gucci?
“It was an accident! I promise,-!” I was cut off as I was slapped across the face. My stepmother, Kristen glared at me, seething.
“Shut your mouth, you DISGUSTING mongrel!” She roared in my face, causing me to wince. “How DARE you even THINK about being around my beautiful girl!”
My stepsister, Fiona was the same age as me, Sixteen years old, but she acted like she was eleven. Kristen had married into my family a year ago and she’d never liked me, even from the start. I guess she wasn’t too fond of hot pink mohawks and weird tattoos. Especially on girls. However, she didn’t scream at me this way around Dad. Instead, she gave me backhanded and passive-aggressive comments, which my dad took as nothing but simple criticisms.
Fiona was just as bad, except she treated me like her servant. Constantly asking me for everything, borrowing my clothes without permission, and anything else you can think of. Thing is, everyone thought she was perfect and popular because she’s SO nice and SO pretty!
Now, back to before. Fiona was watching as her mom ripped me a new one, all because I’d gotten coffee on her daughters’ new clothes. It had been a total accident. We’d both been coming home from hanging out with our friends.
The thing is, there’s this one stone in our walkway that is slightly higher than the rest. I knew this and so did Fiona but I was saying bye to my friends and I wasn’t paying attention. My foot connected with the stone and I tripped. My dark chocolate mocha went flying out of my hand and all over Fiona’s shopping bag.
So, here we are with an angry, thick make-up wearing mother screaming in my face. She paused from her rant, chest heaving, and eyes wild. I was still standing there, cringing and waiting for her to speak. When she inhaled again, the next stream of words were several things about my mother that she shouldn’t have said and that I won’t repeat. Instead, I snapped.
“You don’t know a THING about MY MOTHER!” I snapped, my head snapping up and my back straightening. Kristen stepped back, startled by my retaliation. “I would tell you to stick to the things you know, but honestly? It seems like you don’t know a goddamn thing.” I picked up my fallen coffee cup, which still had some liquid left inside. I turned it over and poured it on her Gucci shoes as I looked her in the eye the whole time.
Kristen looked at me, her mouth wide open.
“How dare you! You little-!”
“Tell someone who cares.” I hissed, stalking back towards the house. “I was trying to get along with you for Dad’s sake, but y’ know what? Not anymore. NO ONE talks to me that way.”
Then, I slammed the door on their coffee-soaked, awe-struck asses.
Call me a dog
It was an accident.
At the entrance of my neighborhood is a police car and few people that gathered on the side of the road. I look deeper to see what had occurred and saw a Golden Labrador Retriever obviously hurt laying on its side barely moving, my heart sank. It must have been hit by a car. I noticed a little boy walking towards the dog calling him by its name as his mom talks to officer. They must have been driving around looking for their dog and found it lying there. Dogs will always do what most dogs do. As the boy approaches the badly injured broken dog, I wasnt surprised with what i saw.
The dog opened its eyes, slowly raised its head and appeared to use all it’s strength just so it could wag its tail. Now if that isn’t reassuring of something that any doglover comes to expect from their canine companions, I dont know what is. Consistently they aim to please hoping to get only a fraction of the effort and attention it gives, most importantly possessing a loyalty that is unrivaled.
Here and there I hear men being referred to as dogs. There’s a saying that goes, “Lay with dogs, and you’ll wake up with fleas”. Also to mistreat another is said to treat someone like a dog or dogging someone out.
All the while how rare it is to find cats that care, not only do they always land on their feet, but even when that fails, they still have 8 more lives to spare. For a man’s best friend, life sure can be unfair.
So love a dog soundly for their time passes 7 times faster. They’re happy till the end to be your friend, be glad you get to be their master.
So worry not if some compared us men to dogs, because that could actually be a compliment because after all, we’re only human.
"It was an accident."
That's what everybody kept saying regardless of what migth actually being the truth. It was an accident though, it was a mistake. A delibrate action made by me with results I wish I never created. Why is everybody insisting it's not the end of the world? Something I had no control over would be much easier to manage than the pain caused by me directly.
As far as I'm aware, I was the only person injured on the muscular level. My Mother made it out with a bruise from the seat belt and I had both of my arms injured. The left one only having a small cut, on my right is a world of pain. It hurts to write this, but not anymore than it did to think about the people I've hurt.
Though it may seem unrelated at first, pride is my sin. It wasn't always, but it is now and it has been for years. Apologizing hurts, admitting to fucking up so grandly that I destroyed two cars, both filled with living beings. But all I could do was apologize but no closure would be gained from this. Instead they shifted the focus of guilt onto themselves, it never helped either of us.
Despite my feelings.
Despite the damage I caused.
Everybody walked away more or less unharmed.
But it happened. It happened because of a stupid mistake made by a stupid teenager. Nobody is perfect, nobody can look God in the eye and expect to walk away unharmed. But that's what I attempted and I got a warning.