"There'll never be another Camelot"
~Jacqueline Kennedy~


My car came screeching to a halt, the cry of my cars hood screaming at me as I saw the bare skin of something hit my windscreen, cracking it automatically.


Oh, my god - I had just hit someone.

I had just killed someone.

"No, no-no, no, no, no," I screeched, my eyes wide as my shaking hands gripped the steering wheel - the smocking cigarette that lay between my fingers dropping onto my dash. I squished it with my hand, shakily getting out of the car as my wide eyes came across something you could only ever witness on some gruesome cop show - a show I readily avoided.

What was I going to do?

Oh, my god - I was going to prison.

Prison, where surely I would become someone's bitch.

Or someone would become mine.

Oh, god.

I looked down at the naked - yes, naked, body that lay on the ground, my shaking hands going to it's copper skin to try and see if I hadn't killed the man. As soon as my hands touched him, he let out a slow and agonized groan - his fingers twitching in pain and my hand went to my lips, not able to comprehend what I had just done.

I had killed a nudist.

They were a peaceful species, and I had just killed one of them.

Maybe I had killed their leader.

I couldn't help myself before the disgusting feeling of vomit slithered up my throat and I could barely contain it as it left my lips and onto the side of my bloodied and dirtied car.

I couldn't go to prison - I just couldn't!

Maybe I should just leave.

Yeah, you don't know him - you're in the middle of nowhere!

I hushed my evil thoughts and I knelt down on the hard road - my lips trembling as I rolled the body over, shaking my head at the un-moving god.

And he really was a god.

Unbelievably fucking gorgeous.

Focus, Anna, fucking focus!

My fingers looked at the gashes, and the seeping wounds that pooled with blood. "Oh, holy mother of fucking fucked up shit!"

I felt my eyes pool with unwanted tears as I ripped off my flimsy T-shirt, revealing my scarred abdomen and I bit my lip - pressing it to the flowing wound and I wiped my face, my rattled breathing erratic.

Get control of yourself, Anna.


I wiped my auburn hair from my face, cursing the Universe with some rather colourful words that are usually thought to only belong to a trucker with a beer belly and a rough beard, that had the remains of his devoured breakfast still stuck in the unruly hair.

Yet I knew every curse word known to man's vocabulary.

What the hell are you even thinking about, Anna?

"Get it together Anna," I muttered, placing my free hand on his chest.

I bit my lip to stop myself from bursting into uncontrollable sobs that would surely succumb me o I allowed them to protrude my facade.

Why does the Universe hate me?

Am I really that bad of a person?

I mean, sure, I wasn't the best person you could imagine but it wasn't like I was fucking Hitler! I looked down at the scratched face, my hand coming down to cradle it and I sighed.

"I need to get you to a hospital, nudist."


You're really calling the man you hit a nudist?

I don't blame the Universe for hating me.

It has good reason.

I am a terrible person.

How am I going to get him in my car?

I stood, my shaking hands running through my hair as my speech rattled off into the ever-consuming silence as I paced.

How was I going to get him in my car?

He was a cow!

Well, the size of one.

He could probably eat a cow by himself - I was sure he was the size of a bear.

A big, huge, massive - unbelievably huge bear.

He had to be over 6'7.

I knelt back down, shakily, my lips inches from his ear as I put my bloodied hand on his face, cupping it. "I'm so, so sorry - but, but I have to move you. I'm so, so sorry."

I went to my car, yanking the door open as I moved all the crap away from the seat and onto the ground - placing my sleeping bag on it so at least he would have a little padding.


Breathe, just breathe.

I was called a strong girl at home. I beat everyone whom versed me in arm wrestling, and I was the best. I was always the best. I could verse anyone and I would beat them - ever my father didn't have the muscles to beat me.

Granted, he has barely lifted a weight in his life - but still.

You're strong, Anna, you can do this.

Can you lift a cow?


That is the situation I am dealing with.

And, the fact, that I am a murderer.

Oh, I was going to throw up again.

I looked to his large frame before I grabbed his thick arm, using all my weight I could muster to lift him.

I wasn't exactly successful.

Profanities flying out of my mouth, I could feel the vomit exiting my mouth again and I cried out in pain as I ran a hand over my lips, ridding it of it's chunky vile.

I looked back to his broken body, and I bit my lip - my hands wrapping themselves under his shoulders as I dragged him to my car, slowly getting him onto the seat, which he didn't fit in.

I wound the window down, slipping his overly large legs out of the window as I placed my pillow underneath his head.

"Calm down, Anna. Calm the fuck down."

I breathed out a rattled breath, my hands gripping at the steering wheel as I closed my eyes - shaking my head.

I didn't even know where I was or where I was meant go!

I was meant to be going to a wedding and I had got a dress, and high heels and brought some makeup! I did that, and I was going to make an appearance to my cousins wedding - a cousin that I used to eat her dads bait worms with.

Sure, I was going to raid their buffet table and drink all the conceivable alcohol that they supplied but hey, I hated weddings.

You need alcohol to get through them.

My eyes watered as my rickety, old yellow car slowly started up - my bloodied hands coming up to my face to wipe them away.

Get to forks.

They have a hospital there.


They must have.


I need a fucking cigarette.

I rummaged across my dashboard, grabbing the small box as my trembling hands grabbed a singular cigarette as I shakily lit it - the relief of smoke travelling through my body calmed me.

"Okay," I murmured, looking into the cracked review mirror. "Are you okay, Nudist?"

He has a name, you moron!

How am I to know it! It's not like he has it tattooed like a tramp stamp on his lower back.

God, that would be a sight.

"Welcome to Forks," I muttered.



Edited 8/10/13