Lies & Stomachaches

I called in sick for my stupid work.
I lied, of course.
I said I had a terrible stomachache.
I felt absolutely fine.

Who wants to be a damn secretary when you could be out partying?
I am Anna Greene and I hate being a secretary at a law firm.
I especially hate it because everyone calls me Ms. Greene.
My name is Anna.
A-N-N-A.

I sat in my white Volkswagen Jetta, my boyfriend, George Adams, sitting shotgun.
We were speeding, I'll admit it.
But I wanted to feel a rush of adrenaline.
I love adrenaline rushes.
I always used to get in fights at school on purpose just for the adrenaline rush.
I love it.

The air freshener dangling from the mirror swung back and forth as I slammed on the breaks for a red light.
The air freshener was shaped like a hemp leaf.
It was George's idea.
He leaned over and kissed me.
I grinned and pulled a pack of Marlboros out of the glove box.
I lit one up and put it between my lips, my red lipstick staining the cigarette.
I put the pack back in the glove box.

The light changed, I pressed on the gas pedal again.
This was it. The perfect day.
Just cruising with George.
I was loving today.

Until it happened.
We heard the sirens of an ambulance and slammed on the breaks so it could pass.
The car behind it wasn't so quick to hit the breaks.
It crashed into us.
My head slammed forward into the windshield, the force caused my forehead to begin bleeding.
My chest slammed into the steering wheel.
I could feel the pain as my ribs cracked.
Then all I could see was black.

George stood in the hospital next to the doctor.
The doctor tells him that I was a DOA.
Dead on Arrival.
One of my ribs punctured my heart.
I was dead.

I guess it serves me right for my lies and stomachaches.