alaska. | hiatus.

alaska | the day it all began.

[unedited.]

 the day it all began.

       The car turned quickly; too quickly.

       It spun out of control and my father couldn’t do anything to stop it. My mother was screaming, he was yelling at her and me? I just sat in the back watching myself as the tears ran down my face, I watched as I struggled to get a breath and my chest got tight, I knew I was going to die. The car was moving fast, it was impossible to control and my father, who had been driving for twenty-four years, couldn’t get it to stop spinning.

       At the age of seventeen years old, I knew my life was about to come to an end. I, Alaska Paige Oliver, was going to die. A million and one things flashed through my mind, questions that would forever be unanswered because I would be dead and never have the chance to ask those questions.

       My red hair flew in front of me as the car went straight into a tree, then instead of watching myself I was sucked back into my body, just in time for it to go flying through the front windshield. I heard nothing, she had stopped screaming and he had stopped yelling, it was official. I was no longer alive...

       Dead.

       Dead.  

       Dea--

       "Laska, get up!” The voice jolted me from the dream, reminding me that I wasn’t dead and I sighed as I looked up finding my older sister’s, Texas, hazel eyes staring down at me. “Good, c’mon. I made lunch.”

       “Lunch?” I questioned while she skipped out of my room.

       I died that day. Legit died, but it wasn’t when I went through the windscreen, it was when they were taking me to the hospital in the ambulance and they brought me back. Sometimes, I really wish they hadn’t bothered with bringing me back.

       Since I “survived”, I had to move from my hometown in Louisiana because Texas has a job here, which is being a photographer for some fashion magazine, and here was New York City. Any other time, I would have been ecstatic about coming here, then again it was completely understandable. At least that’s what my, darling, sister says, I could do anything and she’d just say it was my way of coping.

       Take drugs? I’m coping. Get arrested? I’m coping. Ruin her flat? I’m coping. And no, I haven’t done any of those things. I just know that she wouldn’t give me any shit for it.

       It was strange because she was acting fine, as if she hadn’t lost her parents as well and a small part of me knew she was acting in hopes that I would feel better or get over this quickly.

       With another sigh, I clambered out of the bed and grabbed the oversized jumper yanking it over my head. It belonged to my father, my mother wore it half the time and he wore it the other half. I grabbed my red, untamable, hair and pulled it into a messy bun on the top of my head as I walked out of the bedroom, a yawn escaped my lips once I reached the kitchen which was just an open space and it was massive. The kitchen, dining table and living room was all joined because my sister lived in open studio, that’s what they called it.

       She was already sitting at the table, eating a sandwich and I sat down next to her, pulling my plate closer as I eyed the food. “So, there’s thing.” I glanced up, meeting her eyes as she spoke. “It’s… Uh, well how do I explain this?”

       “Just tell me already.” I mumbled, before taking a bite of the ham sandwich.

       “It’s group therapy, for teenagers who are y’know.”