Agony claws my mind.  I am a statistic.  When I first go there I felt very much
alone.  I was over-whelmed by grief, and I expected to find sympathy. I found
 no sympathy.  I saw only thousands of others whose bodies were as badly
mangled as mine.  I was given a number and placed in a category.
 The category was called "Traffic Fatalities."

The day I died was an ordinary school day.  How I wish I had taken the bus!
But I was too cool for the bus.  I remember how I wheedled the car out of Mom.
"Special favor," I pleaded.  "All the kids drive."  When the 2:50 p.m. bell rang, I
threw my books in the locker...free until tomorrow morning!  I ran to the parking
lot, excited at the thought of driving a car and being my own boss.

It doesn't matter how the accident happened.  I was goofing off- going too fast,
taking crazy chances.  But I was enjoying my freedom and having fun. The last
thing I remember was passing an old lady who seemed to be going awfully slow.
I heard a crash and felt a terrific jolt.  Glass and steel flew everywhere.  My whole
body seemed to be turning inside out.  I heard myself scream.

Suddenly, I awakened.  It was very quiet.  A police officer was standing over me.
I saw a doctor.  My body was mangled.  I was saturated with blood.  Pieces of
jagged glass were sticking out all over.  Strange that I couldn't feel anything.
Hey, don't pull that sheet over my head.  I can't be dead. I'm ony l7.  I've got a
date tonight.  I'm supposed to have a wonderful life ahead of me.  I haven't lived
yet.  I can't be dead.

Later I was placed in a drawer.  My folks came to identify me. Why did they have
to see me like this? Why did I have to look at Mom's eyes when she faced
the most terrible ordeal of her life?  Dad suddenly looked very old.
 He told the man in charge, "Yes, he's our son."

The funeral was weird.  I saw all my relatives and friends walk toward the casket.
They looked at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen.  Some of my buddies
were crying.  A few of the girls touched my hand and sobbed as they walked by.

Please somebody - wake me up!  Get me out of here.  I can't bear to see Mom
and Dad in such pain.  My grandparents are so weak from grief they can barely
walk.  My brother and sister are like zombies.  They move like robots.
 In a daze.  Everybody.  No one can believe this, I can't believe it, either.

Please, don't bury me!  I'm not dead!  I have a lot of living to do!  I want to laugh
and run again.  I want to sing and dance.  Please don't put me in the ground!  I
promise if you give me just one more chance, God, I'll be the most careful driver
in the whole world.  All I want is one more chance.  Please God, I'm only 17.
(John Berrio, Author)
(Copied from the Internet)

Please note: This is an assay written by John Berrio meant as an 
exhortation to the youth to exercise caution while behind the wheel. 
According to Snopes. com, John was a veteran of World War II.
  He died in 1997 at the age of  77.  He was the father of 5 children
 and knew about teenagers.  This was written in 1967 after  a friend of
his son died in a car accident.  Later it was submitted to "Dear Abby",
"Ann Landers", "Chicken Soup For the Teenage Soul" for publication
 and has appeared on several websites and by emails on the Internet.