Dead at 17

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The tracking element of this letter is a hoax. For more information see

http://www.snopes.com/inboxer/nothing/billgate.htm

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Dead at 17

Agony claws my mind. I am a statistic. When I first got here, I felt very much
alone. I was overwhelmed by grief, and I expected to find sympathy.

I found no sympathy. I saw only thousands of others whose bodies were as
badly mangled as mine. I was given a number and placed in a category. The
category was called “Trafic Fatalities.”

The day I died was an orinary school day. How I wish I had taken the bus! But I
was too cool for the bus. I remember how I wheedled the car out of Mom.
“Special favor,” I pleaded. “All the kids drive.” When the 2:50 P.M. bell rang, I
threw my books in the locker. Free until tomorrow morning! I ran to the
parcking lot, excited at the thought of driving a car and being my own boss.

It doesn’t matter how the accident happened, I was goofing off—going too fast,
taking crazy chances. But I was enjoying my freedom and having fun. The last
thing I remember was passing an old lady who seemed to be going awfully slow.
I heard a crash and felt a terrific jolt. Glass and steel flew everywhere. My
whole body seemed to be turning inside out. I heard myself scream.

Suddenly, I awakened. It was very quiet. A police officer was standing over me.
I saw a doctor. My body was mangled. I was saturated with blood. Pieces of
jagged glass were sticking out all over. Strange how I couldn’t feel anything.
Hey, don’t pull that sheet over my head. I can’t be dead. I’m only 17. I’ve got a
date tonight. I’m supposed to have a wonderful life ahead of me. I haven’t lived
yet. I can’t be dead!

Later I was placed in a drawer. My folks came to identify me. Why did they
have to see me like this? Why did I have to look into Mom’s eyes when she
faced the most terrible ordeal of her life? Dad suddenly looked very old. He told
the man in charge, “Yes–He is our son.”

The funeral was weird. I saw all my relatives and friends walk toward the
casket. The looked at me with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. Some of my
buddies were crying. A few of the girls touched my hand and sobbed as they
walked by.

Please–somebody–wake me up! Get me out of here. I can’t bear to see Mom
and Dad in such pain. My grandparents are so weak from grief they can barely
walk. My brother and sister are like zombies. They move like robots. In a daze.
Everybody. No one can believe this. I can’t believe it either.

Please don’t bury me! I’m not dead! I have a lot of living to do! I want to laugh
and run again. I want to sing and dance. Please don’t put me in the ground! I
promise if you give me just one more chance, God, I’ll be the most careful driver
in the whole world. All I want is one more chance.

Please, God, I’m only 17!

John Berrio

This is what happens daily in our world! Wreckless drivers take the lives of
others. Others who haven’t done anything wrong! Others who haven’t lived their
life to the fullest! This is proof that it really does happen! It can happen to
anyone! It just so happens..The author to this piece goes to my school! He has
written this piece as a dedication towards his brother!

Sean Berrio….We will never forget you!

1981-1998

Please pass this on as a memorial towards Sean! For every person who recieves
this e-mail his brother has promised to place $1.00 into a fund!

Please help!