• †Prologue

    -<§>-

    “Sierra,” Mrs. Slater called from the downstairs of her two-story house. “Come on! We’re going to be late!” Mrs. Slater was in her late thirties with long black hair, and brown eyes that were framed by green glasses.

    She and her daughter were going to the mall for a blood donation drive. After that they were going to go shopping. Basically it was a girl’s night out.

    Mrs. Slater heard pounding upstairs, and guessed that it was her daughter coming down. It was, and a few minutes later the thirteen-year-old came running down the stairs, missed the last one, and crashed into the couch at the far end of the room. Picking herself up, she came into the kitchen with a casual wave as though nothing had happened.

    Sierra Slater was tall for her age. She had reddish brown hair that fell a little past her shoulder. Her eyes were a startling blue, and were sometimes framed by false glasses. Sierra said that they made her look smarter than she actually was. There were no glasses today, however. Sierra was wearing a maroon shirt with sleeves that ended a little above the elbow. She wore a pair of black jeans and a small purse was hanging over her shoulder.

    She walked over to the table and got her black tennis shoes out from under it. Then she stopped, as if trying to remember something. Mrs. Slater, who was used to this kind of behavior from her daughter, said, "They’re in your pocket, honey.”

    Sierra blushed and pulled her white, short cut socks from her back pocket. She quickly got her shoes on, and soon they were heading out the door to their old, red suburban. On her way out, Sierra grabbed a danish that was sitting on the kitchen counter. She hadn’t gotten up early enough to eat a regular breakfast, so she figured she’d eat in the car.

    Sierra got into the black passenger seat and her mother got in the driver’s. The car started without any hold ups, unlike how it usually did, and they were heading out of their driveway.

    They got about halfway through their neighborhood when her mother began to talk to her. This always happened. They would be going along and suddenly Mrs. Slater would hit her daughter with a bunch of questions. How was school? Do you have a boyfriend? Have you made peace with that one girl who you hate and would rather that I didn’t talk about her? That kind of thing.

    “Honey,” Mrs. Slater began. “You know, some people think that it’s unhealthy to skip meals.” She must have noticed the danish her daughter was eating. “You should really get up earlier.”

    “Mom, it’s fine.” Sierra insisted. “You always get that way, don’t worry. I’m perfectly fine.”

    “Hmm . . .” Mrs. Slater seemed doubtful, but didn’t push it.

    They were coming to the highway now, and Mrs. Slater slowed the car down. The light turned from red to green and they pulled out. It’s strange how bad things always seem to happen in slow motion.

    There was a loud horn from Sierra’s side of the car. She looked out the window to see an eighteen-wheeler coming at them fast. Her mother couldn’t change course and the truck couldn’t stop. It collided with the suburban, flipping it over and sending it crashing into a nearby stop sign.

    She heard her mother scream, and then her world went dark.

    -<§>-

    The hospital room was quiet. Mrs. Slater was sitting by the cot that held her daughter’s broken body. The doctor’s said that over ninety percent of her bones were broken, including all her ribs and skull. It would be a miracle if she lived.

    Her body was bandaged from head to toe. The only skin showing was her mouth, nose, and eyes.

    Her mother listened to the steady beating of her heart on the monitor.

    Beep . . . Beep . . . Beep . . . That was the only thing that soothed her. As long as that was making noise, her daughter had a chance. She looked around the white room. White. Every single thing was white. She smiled grimly when she thought of how they were coming to town to give donated blood, not to use it.

    She was so angry. Angry with herself for being completely unharmed. Angry at herself for not waiting just a few more minutes before pulling out into the road.

    Beep . . . Beep . . . Be . . . ep . . .

    The door opened and the doctor came in. “I’m sorry, but you have to go now. If there’s any change we’ll call you.” He saw her face and added, “It wasn’t your fault, don’t blame yourself . . . she wouldn’t want that, would she?”

    Mrs. Slater nodded, wiping off her wet glasses on her shirt. She controlled her tears until she got into the taxi on the way home.

    The doctor turned to the girl in the bed. Her life rested in his hands. He didn’t want to be this kind of doctor, the one who had to save people from dying. He had wanted to be the kind of doctor that prescribed some drugs, tested some reflexes. Nothing serious.

    But here he was with a dying girl on his hands. He didn’t think she would make it.

    He looked at her heart rate. It was slowing down. Soon it would go out. He wished he had known what she could have accomplished. With a girl so young, you never knew. Perhaps she was the one that could have found a cure for AIDS. Maybe she could have been the first on Mars, or stopped world hunger, given the world peace, or . . .

    Beep . . . Bee . . . ep . . . Beeeee . . . oooopp---

    He sighed, his body shaking as he called in a nurse.

    “Call Mrs. Slater . . .” He said, shaking his head meaningfully. “I think . . . she’s gone . . .”




    . . . .Prologue End. . . .

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