Let's get one thing straight: my mother forced me. She looked at me in desperation and said: 'This will be good for you.' And yes I might be a prick. But I love my mum, and we'd been fighting for weeks about me going to SST.
So I said yes. A year before that I'd actually agreed to seek out professional help and I got stuck with a therapist who was actually likeable.
I agreed to all sorts of weird therapeutic stuff. But no matter how much they tried I would NOT go to SST. My first reason being: it sounds like a creepy disease. My second reason was actually the most important one though.
SST is short for Social Skills Training. Which meant group therapy. Which meant other teenagers. People.... talking.
You probably don't understand and that's alright. To keep it short I went through the course, I didn't make any friends because they were all like twelve or something and I had just turned sixteen. And soon enough they gave me a certificate that said:
|| Sally Wheeler ||
Has successfully finished the Social Skills Training.
My grade? A 10 out of 10. So with my certificate in my left hand, and a cup of tea in the other I left the building without saying goodbye to any of the other participants. I was super relieved. Now I could finally go back to my normal boring life.
... About that. I'm always super careful with crossing the road. And for one simple reason: You can't trust cars. You just can't. They are cold machines secretly designed to kill and conquer our world. That day I was in such a hurry to get home that I didn't look.
I didn't see or hear the car because it was one of those new electrical ones that can be really quiet. And the guy was racing like his life depended on it.
So I died.
I like to think that it wasn't hundred percent my own stupid fault. The driver is partly to blame. As are the people with whom I followed SST. Because if they weren't so stupid I might've actually stayed for a little longer to talk. My mother may also be partly to blame because she was the one who forced me to follow the course in the first place.
Many people are to blame for my dead. But in the end I was the idiot who didn't look before crossing the road.
Karma is a bitch as they say. I can hardly remember the dying part. Which should be a good thing. But if I have learned one thing from watching Supernatural it is that dying is never a fun experience.
As someone who loathes pain let me tell you that it really freaking hurt.
First there is the impact that depending on the speed and type of car can break your bones, and then there is the fall when you hit the ground.
Sadly I didn't die on the spot. The driver called an ambulance and soon people were crowding around us like it was a spectacle or something.
No I died in the hospital, my heart gave out. Apparently getting hit violently and breaking several bones and probably ruining a few organs can make you stressful
I have a few regrets of course, I was planning on becoming a famous writer and conquering the world with my charming personality. But shit happens.
Does that conclude the life of Sally Wheeler?
Not really, bear with me.