text: David walked into the pub, looking around in search of his mates. Not seeing them, he sat down at the bar to order a pint while he waited for them to turn up. “Lager please” he said as the barman came round. “Where the hell are they...” he thought to himself. He pulls his mobil out to see if any of them had rang him. They hadn’t. He sent a text to the group “You said meet up at 4 it’s nearly 5. Where are you?” *Send* An expression of confusion came across his brow. The message says sent, but not delivered. “odd..” he thought to himself again. Finishing his pint, he thought might as well have another as I wait. The pub was eerily dead for a Saturday so the second pint came quick, the glass glistening under the soft warm lights above the bar. He drank hastily as he sat there miffed that no one has shown up yet, Or at least responded to him. He looks again, still says sent, but not delivered. “Where are they?” He thinks, as he takes another large swallow. He calls Michael, but it goes straight to voicemail. He looks at the clock behind the bar... nearing 7:30 now, and he realizes he’s completely sloshed. On 2 pints? Oh wait there was a third...and a fourth? Shit... how many had he drank? six? He’s groggy, and a little disoriented as he stands up for a wee, and for the first to really looks around. “Where...where am I?” He half mumbles to himself. He doesn’t recognize anything. Nothing seems right. It’s all familiar, but not in a recognizable way. He grabs his mobile from his pocket, but right as he’s about to try Jon’s phone, he hears someone calling his name. They sound far away, almost as if they were calling from up the stairs. He starts to look around and again he hears it, “Daavid. Daaaaavid” almost a whisper, but somehow incredibly loud at the same time. His head starts to pound. “FUCK!” he yells, someone turned on all of the bright florescent overheads. He looks up, shielding his eyes a bit from the harsh white light “Now who would bloody do that!?” He says, again mostly to himself. “David. DAVID” He hears again. More stern this time. “I know that voice” he thinks. “Dad?” He mutters out as he looks around still blinded. Suddenly he hears sobbing, again it sounds almost as if it’s coming from up the stairs. He looks around the room again, when he sees a figure moving towards him ... he can’t make out who it is, still partially blinded with this light... he closes his eyes for a second to try to readjust “David. Oh my god David. We thought we lost you” he hears, his eyes still closed. Suddenly, like a deer right before impact, his eyes open wide, looking up into the increasingly bright light. His dad looming over him, his mum draped across him, in the best embrace you can give in a hospital bed. He looks down, he’s in a hospital gown. Suddenly the world comes alive in his head. The buzzes and beeps from the machines he’s hooked up to, hospital staff outside the room rushing around, his own nurse checking something on a monitor nearby. He’s in hospital, this much he can gather but what happened? “Where am I? What happened? Why am I in hospital?” He can hardly get the words out, his mouth dry, his lips tight and cracked. “You’re in hospital David, there’s been an accident” his dad says, trailing off at the end. He notices his mum starts sobbing again. Suddenly like every bad teen movie cliche he’s transported back as he remembers, they were coming home from a football match, Chelsea had just won 2 nil against Brighton. Michael was driving his mates and him home after the match. They were just passing through Hammersmith and the last thing he remembers is screaming as huge lights from a Lorry were seconds away from making contact with the side of Michaels car. “How’s everyone else?! Are they okay? Are they at Charing Cross too?” Michael asks frantically as he tries to sit up. His mum, who was already barely holding it together loses it. His dad who until this point had stood their stoically, turns away to try to hide the tears as he says, “they... they didn’t make it David.