unruly

p r o l o g u e

There's a special time in everyone's life when you question who you are. The very existence of your being, and for everyone it's different.

There's people who change what they wear, who they talk to, how they act, and who they are completely. But still, it's completely different for everyone.

Like when you're walking down the street, taking a big gulp of air, and questioning, "Why?" Because no one knows exactly why they're alive or what their purpose is, and who they'll marry or what they'll be.

And then you're wishing for a saving grace, a sign of something, and that's when it hits you.

Literally hits you.

The car that slams into you at an ungodly speed, making every bone in your body turn into dust and your insides turn into mush. The pain is cruel and unforgiving, the air from your lungs is gone and never to return again.

The breeze from the wind that you're flying in is the only constant thing around you until you're slammed into the ground again. Hearing cracks and groans and pounding and fireworks and yourself screaming is the only music that has graced your ears in a while.

The sound of screeching tires don't come, no ones gonna save you. You're left alone.

So you wait for what feels like hours, maybe even days, until the sound of sirens yell from the distance, and the world finally goes black.

Because change is different for everyone, and the results are not at all the same.