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Three

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The first thing that happens is the world defies gravity and tilts. Over and over again, spinning around like the inside of a washing machine. No one screams. That's only in movies. But mouths are wide open in horror, not understanding, they will never understand. But Tyler does, and he screams in absolute terror, a broken and high-pitched scream.

The second thing that happens is the impact. Shit doesn't move in slow motion like they want you to believe. It happens fast, and it happens loud. There's a screeching noise, a sound of tearing metal, a huge crunch. They're upside down now, and he can't understand why they're not right-side up. 

The third thing that happens is mind-lock. He can't comprehend what's happening. Doesn't understand why he can't feel his arm, doesn't understand why his leg is pinned under something heavy and leather, doesn't understand why nobody else is moving. Smoke and dust and an acrid smell permeates the small space. His left eye hurts, and there's blood. So much blood. 

The fourth thing that happens is denial. When it hits him that they're dead and he survived, an agonized cry is ripped from his throat. He tries to drag himself to the driver, but he's stuck. The roof has caved in and its pinning his back. He can see his friend, though. He's curled up over what used to be the steering wheel. Blood leaks from his shattered skull in a steady drip drip movement. He's dead. He's dead, and Tyler's still here. 

"No, no, please," Tyler begs, he begs and begs and nothing happens. There are sirens somewhere. They hurt his head. He begins to scream. "HEEELLP," he shouts. "PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP ME!" They're not screams of self-preservation. He needs to get out, get away, he's trapped in a metal box that has now become a coffin, with the corpses of three of his friends.

There's a huge ripping noise, and light floods the insides of the car. He can see firemen and policemen now. One throws the Jaws Of Life to the ground, grabbing Tyler's forearms. 

"I've got you!" he shouts. 

People are getting out of their cars now. They're stopping to watch. Some film it. He's not a film. He's just a man, a man with no friends, no band, and no life. It's over.

"Almost got you," the fireman says. "Stay with me. Stay with me. You're going to be okay."

He's not going to be okay. 

The fireman finally manages to pull him out of the ruined shell of the car with the help of another police officer. An ambulance is near; EMTs roll out a stretcher. He's facing right-side up now, finally; the tops of the trees wave to him, the blue of the sky calls to him. 

"Don't leave me," he whispers, tears staining his cheeks, as the dark envelopes him.