There's a reason you don't do certain things while driving.

Staring out in front of me, not a single person was moving. I just laid there on the concrete, trying to ignore the horrid pain slashing through my broken leg or the many cuts on me that soaked my clothes with crimson blood. Soon people were surrounding us, calling the same number on small cell phones and trying to perform CPR on the person in the passenger seat, who was already gone. My baby brother was crying in his carseat, not hurt, but terrified by the noises. It only made my head throb more.

I tried to roll on my back and see if my mom and dad were breathing, but I didn't have the strength. I just stayed where I was in agony while trying not to make any noise to make the people crowding me less tense than they already were. A few minutes ticked by painfully, and the sirens finally came.

At first it was absolute that the woman driving the car was dead, because they carried her out and placed her in a body bag, being gentle to her fragile corpse. Two men in blueish-green clothing moved me onto a flat panel sort of thing, and that first swift move just about killed me. Everyhting was too loud, and I shut my eyes, not thinking about my leg or my bruises or my headwound from crashing through the windshield. I closed out the noises, the frantic shouting, my brother's cry of fear, the ambulance people telling me to stay awake.

I opened my eyes back up in an instant, and there were red spots covering up some things. I was then rolling on something, a neck brace around me, my arms and good leg strapped down. I shooting pain went through the other one, and I figured out that they had to set it.

I got the first glimpses of my mom and dad, and they were in better shape than me. Dad was walking with a limp and he looked more puffed than he should, but other than that he was fine. Mom had a neck brace like me, but she was running along side my moving self, murmuring things I couldn't make out because of my murky pulse in my ears.

I felt something else change around me. Mom was sitting close to me and one of the men in the green was hovering over me. Every so often I felt different pricks and strange feelings in my wrists, but I just didn't want to look. My head was being bandaged up when we pulled into a big building.

I was rushed through, and there were more people in green and blue and white around me. It hadn't hit me yet that they were doctors and I was in a hospital. By the time the room changed from a big hallway to a sort of emergency room, I felt more pain, my leg was getting twisted up more, and I was going into shock. More pain from all my wounds, more bandages. Things eventually died down and I fell asleep for a while.

While I slept, I saw nothing. As soon as I woke up, I was in a room that wasn't mine. There were machines hooked to me, beeping moniters to my left, a tired dad to my right, and a million get well cards and balloons and flowers in front of me and around the room.

It took me a while, but I suddenly remembered why I was in here. The laughter from my brother from the funny cartoons on the portable DVD player, my mom's constant bickering about her day, my dad's quiet complaints about her bickering, and me, staring straight in front of me, my learner's permit red-hot in my pocket. My dad wasn't paying attention to where I was going, and I didn't realize how fast I was going. My seatbelt wasn't clicked in right to the latch, and some drunk driver was running a red light, T-boning right into my mom's seat in the back. I hit the brakes too hard, and someone hit us from behind, sending us flying forward and to the left, hitting one more car gpoing the other way before I flew out and onto the glass-covered paved road.

I opened my eyes from my sleep, and tried my best to forget the dead woman from the head-on crash, the drunk man who was still missing, and the lucky people who didn't get hurt, like the rest of my family.

I may have healed, but I'll never drive again.