393 words (2.5-3 minutes)My father used to tell me that words can express anything, My mother told me that memories help to guide your future. The priest at our church once told me that if I pray to God he will be merciful and grant me what I ask for.
So that night, that night when Amy got hit by the car, I thought everything would be alright. We'd been out at a party and hadn't managed to find a phone to call for a cab, she only lived ten minutes away, so we walked.
We didn't see the driver, he came from no where, he was drunk. There were no screaming brakes or screeching tires, he just simply drove over her. She was standing about a meter from me. I don't think he even noticed, that's how smashed he was, he just drove off down the road, leaving Amy, my Amy, my best friend lying there in a crumpled unrecognizable heap.
So I lay down next to her, I held her in my arms and rocked her and while she struggled to talk to me, I sang her all the songs of our childhood. I talked over all our life together. I prayed so hard my hands hurt and my knees started to bleed from the asphalt. And I held that frail body in my arms while I cried for the person I cared most for in the world.
She was crying too, shaking violently as she did so. Her eyes were filled with tears and blood and fear and they stared up at me for help. I screamed up to God to let Amy live, I screamed until my sobs of anguish would no longer let me. And when she died in my arms I pleaded with God to send her back to me.
But he didn't. He didn't listen. He didn't care about me or her. He didn't care about how my life wasn't worth living after that.
And no words could ever describe that night. No one will ever know how that felt. Amy, lying in my arms, struggling for her last breaths and there was nothing I could do, nothing. No words could ever express that.