The only thing that I truly remembered of that day was the sharp, lingering scent of moss and earth. The damp dirt pressed up against my face. The crashed car was making a low whining noise, but my ears hadn’t completely adjusted, as I could only hear the noise out of my left ear. I felt my mother’s hand scrabbling for mine. At that moment, I remember feeling relieved that we had actually survived. I remember thinking that she was okay. I turned to look at her and I felt my heart take a sickening plunge. Her piercing blue eyes were locked on my own, as if to say a final goodbye. A final 'I love you'. That was when I noticed the thick tree branch jarred through the window and forced into her chest, staining her deep blue shirt red. The last thing I remember of that day was the terrible, bloodcurdling scream, a shower of light as the car's engine caught and erupted and the feeling of my body sinking. Sinking down, down, down as I receded further and further from reality. My father disappeared not too long after the incident. Since then I've been bouncing from foster home to foster home. Can you tell how great God's been treating me? Obviously some first class stuff. I would say that He gave me the gift to master the knowledge of which muscles I should blow out when kicking someone in the knee. Or, which precise area of the wrist I should break when I snap it to the side. I would say that... but sorry, Big Guy, that's called experience. And experience has got me so far as to allow me to actually say that it's my 17th birthday today. But, today I can tell that experience is going to get me no where. Because this is some otherworldly shit.