Young Writers Society

Prologue
Every fifteen minutes, someone in the United States dies in an alcohol-related traffic crash, whether they are the drunk driver or an innocent passenger. Teenagers have an 'invincibility complex' - that thought of "It will never happen to me." As a result, the videos and victim testimonies are no longer as effective as they once were. More schools across the country are taking part in a dramatic, shocking, graphic two-day program called "Every Fifteen Minutes" that gets the message across.
I participated in this program at my former high school (I've graduated and am in college now) in May 2009, and recently re-watched our DVD. Watching the DVD and looking at the pictures again inspired me to write about my experience as a victim.
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“Every fifteen minutes, someone in the United States is killed by drunk driving.”
The letters on the poster were large and bold. I looked away from the page, and up at the uniformed police officer standing in front of me. “Yes, I’m interested. I’ll help.”
Officer Sarah Bodi nodded, tucking a stray strand of her short dark hair behind her ear as she opened a manila folder and made a note in it. “We’ll be back tomorrow at 11:40. There will be a lunch meeting in the student service office, and you’ll get more details then.” She looked at the clock. “Get to class.”
“Yes, ma’am.” We both smiled. I picked up my backpack and merged into the flood of students in the hallway. Officer Bodi turned back to her folder and continued writing.

Three Weeks Later

PART I: Simulator and Hospital

Tuesday, 8:20 AM

"Honestly, this is so stupid." This complaint was punctuated by an eye roll and a sigh. "It's bad to drink and drive. We get it. They've only told us about a million times. We didn't need to hear it again. And we definitely don't need a week of assemblies and activities!"

Maybe they keep repeating it because they know people never listen, and they hope that it might actually get through to us one day, I thought. I had found the previous day's assembly to be informative and had enjoyed it, but I wasn't surprised that others hadn't. I kept quiet, and turned my attention back to the book of grammar exercises in front of me.

Mrs. Keith walked to the whiteboard at the front of the room and picked up a marker. As she opened her mouth to speak, the loudspeaker rang with a two-tone chime. "Mrs. Keith?"

She made a face at the speaker, but answered politely. "Yes?"

"Send Taylor to the office, please." Teasing murmurs rippled through the room.

"She's on her way." Mrs. Keith nodded to me, indicating that I could go. I collected my papers and workbook, gave up on organizing the pile, and shoved the whole mess into my binder. As the rest of the class opened their grammar workbooks, they looked at me enviously. I picked up my binder and left the room, closing the door quietly behind me.

Officer Bodi suddenly emerged from somewhere and fell into step next to me as I walked towards my locker. "We already took care of signing you and the others out. Are you ready to do this?" In response to my apparently surprised look, she added, "Did you forget?"

I shook my head. "No, of course not. I just didn't know it would be today."

"That's why it's a surprise," she replied wryly. "You aren't supposed to know. Do you have a change of clothes?"

I nodded. "I've had them in my backpack since Thursday."

"Good idea. Hope they don't stink after sitting in there," she teased. I rolled my eyes, smiling. She chuckled. "Go to the bathroom or locker room or wherever you're supposed to go, and get changed. I'll wait for you out here. The others should be on their way." Officer Bodi sat down on the strategically placed wooden bench in the hallway, and I shouldered my backpack and headed for the bathroom.

Two other girls were stuffing jeans and t-shirts into their bags when I opened the door. We looked at each other as I stepped into a green painted metal stall and closed the flimsy door behind me. "So today's the day, I guess." I began trading my jeans and blouse for a more faded pair of jeans and a worn t-shirt. "What do you think? Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Emily said hesitantly. "I'm kind of scared, though. This whole idea is creepy."

"Good," I said emphatically. "No one pays attention anymore. Hopefully something like this will get the message across." I exited the stall and stood in front of the mirror to comb my disheveled blond hair back into a neat ponytail. "There. You ready?" Together, we collected our things and went to meet Officer Bodi.

Two other officers and four students had joined her. There was a round of introductions. Lauren, Josh, Michael, and Patrick were the students, and the officers were Matt Lakin and Jon McIntosh. "We've met," I said with a smile, referring to the training exercise that I had volunteered with over the summer. "It's good to see you again."

"Do you have everything you'll need?" Officer McIntosh asked. The six of us nodded. "All right. Let's go over the plan of action, and then we'll get started." More nods.

"First, a little background. You all have volunteered to take part in a nationwide program known as Every Fifteen Minutes. Every fifteen minutes, someone in the United States is killed in an alcohol-related traffic incident. Statistics have shown that crashed cars on display, victim testimonies and impact panels, and videos no longer have the effect that they used to. Teenagers have what I call an 'invincibility complex.' They are convinced that they are untouchable, and that what they hear and see in videos and presentations about drunk driving will never happen to them. We hope that Every Fifteen Minutes will help to dispel that myth and drive home the point that drunk driving kills. It can happen to anyone. This program is brutal and real. It has been criticized for how graphic and startling it is. But it works."

"Now, a recap and a reminder of the game plan for today. Four of you - Michael, Emily, Andrea, and Patrick - will stay here on campus with Officer Lakin. The other three - Taylor, Lauren, and Josh - will go back to the police department with Officer Bodi and myself."

"For those of you coming with me and Jon - Officer McIntosh," Officer Bodi added. "Have you ever used or heard of 'beer goggles'?" Michael and I nodded. Everyone else shook their heads. Officer Bodi smiled slightly. "They're goggles with warped lenses that totally throw off your vision, perception, and balance. It's impossible to walk straight or judge distance correctly while wearing them. We use them to give people an idea of what it's like to be drunk. With them on, you'll attempt to drive in a car simulator. Once your car has crashed, emergency crews will be notified and will respond accordingly. You'll be made up to look like you're injured, and taken to the hospital."

"The medical people know that this isn't real, right?" Andrea spoke up. "They're not going to actually do stuff to us, are they?"

Officer McIntosh laughed. "No, they won't. They know this is a simulation. They will be as realistic as they can without putting you in danger." Andrea and Josh looked relieved. Laughter rippled through the room.

Officer Bodi continued. "Some of you will not survive the accident," she said gravely. The laughter stopped, and we fell silent. "Remember, your parents were told that you would be taking part in this, but like you, they don't know when or what will happen. Officers will be dispatched to notify them." She looked at each of us in turn. "We've set up a camera feed. You will be able to watch your parents' reactions. You're free to step out of the room if you need to," she added quickly, "but we ask that you at least try to watch if you can."

"Do you understand?" Officer Lakin asked. We nodded. "Are you ready?" We exchanged glances and nodded hesitantly. "Okay, then. Let's get moving."

Taking a deep breath, I joined Lauren and Josh, and we followed Officer McIntosh and Officer Bodi out the door.

"Just in case there is an actual emergency, half of our cars are on patrol or at the station," Officer Bodi said over her shoulder as we emerged outside into the sunlight. "The rest are on standby for this program." She smiled. "So, you get to ride in the DWI task force van."

There was a moment of silence, and then we burst out laughing. "That's some major irony," Lauren managed. "Oh, that's awesome." Both of the officers were laughing as well.

Officer McIntosh unlocked the van and opened the doors. "This is basically a testing lab on wheels," he informed us as he climbed into the driver's seat. "We can give Breathalyzer tests, draw blood, and process results. There are seats in the back so we can arrest and transport people for DWI. Hop in." One by one, we climbed into the van, maneuvered carefully past all of the equipment, and sat down on the long bench seat.

"Is everybody buckled up?" Officer Bodi asked as she buckled her own seatbelt. We nodded. "Okay, then, let's roll."

.

PART I, Chapter 2

The drive to the police station was short. In only a few minutes, we were pulling into the huge garage and Officer McIntosh was parking the van in its spot. "This is the end of the line. Everybody bail out." We spilled out of the van and surveyed our surroundings.

"Since getting you all made up will take a while, we'll do that first," Officer Bodi told us as we followed her into the building. "Then you can do the driving simulation."

As we approached the end of the hallway, we were met by two women. "This is Pam Michaels," Officer Bodi announced, indicating the woman with short dark blond hair in jeans and a sweatshirt. "And this is Officer Lisa Hahn." She was tall, with shoulder-length light brown hair, and in uniform. "They're both makeup artists, and they're going to help us out."

We introduced ourselves one by one. "Nice to meet you," Pam Michaels greeted us. "Now, which of you is going to be our first victim?" Her grin could only be described as mischievous.

I stepped forward. "I will."

"And when you're finished, depending on how much help Pam and Lisa need, you can lend a hand if you'd like," Officer Bodi told me. She smiled wryly. "I've seen some of the masterpieces that you created in our training drills. Feel free to pitch in here if they need you." I nodded.

"I'll go," Josh spoke up. Lisa Hahn motioned him towards her.

"Excellent." Pam smiled at me. "Come with me, and let's see what I can do for you." I followed her down a long corridor.

The room that she led me to was an interrogation holding room. "Sorry about the location choice," she said wryly, closing the door behind us. "They wouldn't let me do this in the meeting room, and the only other choice was the holding cells."

"In that case, this is fine," I laughed, sitting down in one of the chairs.

Pam picked up a large black duffel bag and turned it upside down. An avalanche of supplies tumbled onto the table. "Officer Bodi mentioned that you've done this before?" she asked as she sorted through the pile.

"Active Shooter training." I grinned. "I've been a student volunteer three times now. I'm a member of CERT response teams, so I've taken part in their drills. And I'm part of the stage crew for my school Drama department, so I've had Stage Makeup 101."

"Well, with Active Shooter and CERT, I assume you've seen some very realistic and gory moulage," Pam said. "So you know what to expect here. It's going to be more of the same." She looked at my clothes. "They were supposed to tell you to wear older clothes that you don't mind ruining."

I nodded. "I did. You can cut them up, put stuff on them, whatever you want."

Pam gave me a thumbs-up. "Perfect. Let's do this." She picked up a jar of makeup. "If it's okay with you, I'm going to put some bruises on your side."

I slid my shirt up to display my side. "I trust you. Go ahead." She opened the jar, picked up a small brush, and got to work.

Nearly an hour passed as Pam worked. Bit by bit, she transformed me from a healthy student to a horribly injured accident victim.

"There. I'm all finished." She applied the finishing touches to a series of ugly bruises that stretched down most of my right side, starting under my arm and ending near my hip. "Here, take a look." I examined my reflection in the large mirror that Pam held up.

It was a gruesome sight. My left eye was swollen and bruised, and there was a bleeding wound on my forehead. The combination of a nosebleed and a gash under my lip had left my chin covered in blood, some of which was dripping down my neck and onto my shirt. The chest of my shirt was soaked with blood as well, and concealed beneath the raggedly torn fabric was a panoply of scrapes, cuts, and dark bruises. More bruises, cuts, and blood covered my arms and legs. A gaping hole in the left leg of my jeans revealed what appeared to be a compound fracture.

I shook my head in amazement. "This is incredible. I look completely disgusting."

"You, my dear, are a mess." Pam smiled. "Shall we go see the others?" Together, we cleaned up her supplies and walked down the hallway to meet up with everyone else.

One glance showed that Lauren and Josh hadn't fared any better than I did. Like me, they were battered, bruised, and bloody. Lauren grimaced. "We look horrible."

"You sure do." Officer Bodi laughed. "I just talked with Officer Lakin, and he says that the other artist made Emily, Andrea, and Patrick look about the same. Michael has some lovely cuts and bruises, but the rest of you are by far in worse condition than he is."

Officer McIntosh immediately did a double take as he walked through the door. "Wow. That's really creepy." He shook his head. "Are you ready to drive now?" We nodded. "All right, then. Follow me, and we'll get you set up."

We followed him and Officer Bodi down another long corridor. "Here we go," Officer Bodi announced, unlocking a door and ushering us into the room. A bank of computers sat on several long tables. "Have a seat." We each sat down at one of the computers, and she inserted a disk and started the program. "These are drunk driving simulators. Depth perception and reaction times are delayed, just like your reflexes would be if you were drunk. In addition, you'll be wearing the beer goggles, so you'll really get the idea."

I spotted the steering wheel control on the desk. "It looks like the Mario Kart game for Nintendo Wii."

Officer Bodi chuckled. "This is sort of the same concept, except police style." She held up a handful of goggles. "And here are your beer goggles. You wear them just like any other ordinary pair of goggles." She waited, smiling in amusement, as we put them on and adjusted them.

Lauren squinted through the blurry, warped lenses. "Wow."

"Now that you have them all adjusted to fit," Officer McIntosh spoke up, "try using them." He dropped a pen on the table in front of each of us. "Pick it up." We each reached for the pens, and each grasped nothing but a handful of empty air. He laughed. "Turn to someone next to you, and give them a high-five." We reached out again, and again hit nothing but empty air. We groped around, trying in vain to make contact. The room rang with laughter.

Officer McIntosh chuckled. "That's pretty much what it feels like to be severely intoxicated. Now, you get to see what it's like to drive a car."

"Here are the controls," Officer Bodi spoke up, guiding each of our hands to the "steering wheels." "The pedals are on the floor by your feet. There you go. Ready, set, drive."

Snickers, laughter, and frustrated exclamations filled the room as we struggled in vain to control our virtual cars. "I am genuinely concerned about my driving ability," Josh remarked.

"There's a simple solution," Officer McIntosh told him, only half-joking. "Don't drink and drive."

The road suddenly veered sharply around a hairpin turn, and I yelped in surprise. In spite of my attempts to regain control, my virtual car careened wildly off the road and slammed into a large tree. The steering wheel vibrated in my hands, and a CGI fireball filled the screen.

The room was suddenly eerily silent. Officer Bodi placed a hand on my shoulder. "You've just been in a horrible accident," she said solemnly. "I'm sorry, but it doesn't look like you survived." Numbly, I got to my feet and followed her out of the room.

We walked silently down another long corridor, and stopped in a small room that contained nothing but a table and three chairs. It looked like the interrogation room that I had sat in earlier. Officer Bodi motioned to the chairs. "Have a seat."

The door opened again only moments later, and Lauren and Josh filed into the room. "Two simultaneous crashes," Officer McIntosh said gravely. "There was one fatality." He placed his hand on Lauren's shoulder. She bit her lip. "The other victim is severely injured and in critical condition." Josh nodded silently.

Officer Bodi picked up her radio. "Gary, Tim, and Nicole. We're ready for you." Three affirmative replies echoed back, and she nodded.

Moments later, three officers entered the room. "These are Gary Williams, Tim Kiser, and Nicole Lucas," Officer Bodi informed us. There was a round of introductions.

Officer McIntosh looked at the three officers. "We've just had three alcohol-related collisions. There were two fatalities." He pointed to Lauren and me. "The surviving victim is severely injured and in critical condition." He pointed to Josh. "Someone needs to notify their families."

Officer Bodi stepped forward, holding the slips of paper that we had filled out during the information meeting with contact information for our parents. The officers took them, read them, and left the room as abruptly as they had come.

Josh, Lauren, and I looked at each other apprehensively. I bit my lip, thinking about my parents. Dad had been a police officer, so he understood the necessity for and effectiveness of this program. He wasn't pleased that I was participating, but he understood. Mom had been against it from the beginning. I wondered how she would handle this.

Three laptop computers sat on the table, open and booted up. As we watched, the screens flickered one by one and suddenly filled with images. I realized that we were watching a live camera feed. We were going to watch the officers talk to our parents.

"There's an officer with a camera following each of them," Officer McIntosh informed us. One by one, the three officers climbed into cars and pulled out onto the street. The "PoliceCams" continued rolling.

Officer Bodi typed something into one of the computers, and looked at the box that appeared on the screen. "Josh, Officer Lucas is going to your parents. Taylor, your parents are going to be notified by Sergeant Williams. And Lauren, yours are going to meet Officer Kiser." We exchanged glances, and Lauren bit her lip.

Officer McIntosh held out three pairs of headphones. "For privacy, so you can listen." He plugged them in, and directed each of us to the computer that corresponded with our officer/camera team.

I watched Sergeant Williams's police car move through the streets towards my parents and our house, and swallowed hard.

My PoliceCam moved closer and closer to its destination. Time seemed to slow down as I watched the car pull into our driveway and come to a stop. Sergeant Williams climbed out of the car and walked briskly up the sidewalk to the front door. He knocked.

After several long seconds, the door opened. Dad was leaning on crutches, his right leg encased in the brace that he had been given after tearing a calf muscle a few days before. His face was drawn and pinched with pain, and the remaining color drained from it as he took in the sight of Sergeant Williams standing on the front step.

"Is your wife at home?" the sergeant asked quietly. Dad nodded. "Could you get her, please? I need to talk with both of you."

"Come in." Dad hobbled clumsily into the living room and sank down on the couch, with Sergeant Williams following.

"Who is it?" Mom called out. She hurried down the hallway, and stopped in her tracks as she spotted Sergeant Williams. "What...?"

The sergeant pulled a black folder from his pocket and flipped it open to reveal his ID. The PoliceCam positioned discreetly behind him showed me that there was a small "Every Fifteen Minutes" card tucked in next to the ID. I saw a flash of recognition in my parents' eyes.

"Your daughter, Taylor, was involved in a serious traffic collision this morning," he said quietly.

"A...a car crash?" Dad's voice trembled. "Is she hurt? Of course she is; you wouldn't be here if she wasn't. How is she?"

Sergeant Williams hesitated, then shook his head. "She has a severe closed head injury. When I left the scene, she was unresponsive."

Following a ten-year career as a police officer, Dad knew precisely what that meant. His face crumbled with grief, and he shook his head.

Mom looked back and forth between Dad and the sergeant, suddenly grasping his meaning. "Oh," she gasped. "Oh, dear God, no." She shook her head vehemently. "No!" It began as a whisper, and gave way to a moan and a cry.

My chest tightened, and I shook my head. I yanked off the headphones and pushed back from the table. "I-I can't. I can't watch."

"Okay." Officer Bodi placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Okay. That's fine."

Lauren was crying. As I watched, she too pulled off her headphones and turned away from the computer.

A few minutes later, Josh took his headphones off as well. "I've never seen my dad cry before," he said shakily. "And my mom... That was rough." He shook his head. "The officer turned the camera off after Officer Lucas told them that she would take them to the hospital. I guess he thought I shouldn't have to watch any more or something."

The room was silent for a few moments as we took deep breaths and tried to calm down.

Officer Bodi looked at her watch. "We have at least a twenty-minute window before your parents get to the hospital. The officers were briefed, and they know to wait at least that long." She held the door open. "Follow me to the EMT's."

We ended up in the garage, back where we had started. This time, however, three ambulances were parked in the open spaces. As we drew closer to them, I felt my heart rate increase slightly.

A horde of blue-uniformed paramedics emerged from the ambulances. I counted twelve, four from each ambulance. "These are your transport teams," Officer McIntosh informed us.

"Who's who?" one of the paramedics asked. "We were told that there were two fatalities and one critical injury."

"Deceased females, injured male," Officer McIntosh said simply.

My team members introduced themselves. Kelly was a petite redhead with green eyes and freckles. Brian was a tall black man with a small Christian ichthus fish symbol tattooed on his wrist. Karen had long blond hair woven in a braid, and a cross necklace. Nick (or "Caesar", as Brian called him) had short dark hair, blue eyes, and a cartoon smiley face on the pocket of his uniform. All of them were calm and confident as they set to work.

Brian hauled a stretcher out of the ambulance. "Let us do the real work from here on out," he told me, raising his voice so Josh and Lauren could hear him as well. "All you have to do is lie back and be injured. Practice your acting skills. Let us know what's wrong with you, and react accordingly if you can."

"Can you lie down?" Kelly asked me. She indicated the orange backboard on the floor. I realized what they wanted, and lay down on the hard floor next to it. On either side of me, Lauren and Josh did the same.

"On my count," Nick said above me. "One, two, and three." Together, he and Brian gently rolled me onto the backboard. "Ready, and...lift." He and Brian lifted the board, and me, with Kelly and Karen supporting the sides. Quickly and gently, they lowered me onto the stretcher. On either side of us, Josh and Lauren were lifted and placed as well. "All right, here we go. Kelly, get her head, please," Nick continued. There was a click as the stretcher's legs were folded, and the team slid it and me into the ambulance.

Officer Bodi's head and shoulders appeared around the door, and she swung herself up and into the ambulance in one smooth movement. "Do officers usually accompany patients to the hospital?" I asked in surprise.

"If they're first responders, and if they want to, yes," she replied. "I want to, so here I am." She smiled slightly. "Nervous?" I was trembling. I nodded. She gave my shoulder a quick pat.

I managed a smile. "The last time I rode in an ambulance, I was sick and hallucinating. I don't remember anything about it."

Everyone laughed. "Well, you're 'semi-conscious' this time, so maybe you'll remember more of it," Officer Bodi said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. She took my hand gently in hers.

The back doors of the ambulance closed, and I heard Nick clambering into the driver's seat. "All set back there?"

"Secure," Kelly answered, clipping a strap into place on the stretcher. "Roll out."

.

I thought the first chapter had a little bit of a patronizing tone. I don't think that program that you described very accurately portrays what it is like to be in the car with a drunk driver. I don't think it needs to be rated 16 either. I think its more like a 12.Overall I thought it was good. Have great night. You can pm me if you have any questions. Fiction

PART I, Chapter 3

The siren emitted a shrill yelp and began to wail. I caught a split-second glimpse of two more ambulances behind us as we merged into traffic and raced down the street.

"Is she responsive at all?" Kelly asked. Her tone was completely serious, and I realized that she was fully in character for the simulation. It was time for me to do the same. My eyelids drooped, and I let my hand go slack in Officer Bodi's. Slowly, gently, she pulled her hand away.

Karen leaned over me. "Semi-conscious," she reported. "What's your name, hon?"

"Taylor," I whispered, in a pathetically weak voice that I hardly recognized as my own.

"I have a niece named Taylor." Karen smiled slightly. "Do you remember anything about what happened to you?" she asked.

"Car crash," I rasped.

Karen nodded. "A bad one. You're in an ambulance on the way to the hospital."

"We'll be at the hospital in seven minutes," Nick spoke up from the driver's seat, glancing from his watch to the window.

Brian placed his hands on either side of my head. "With impact like that, there's a good possibility that you also have some spinal trauma. We're going to put a neck brace on you and immobilize your head until we can confirm that." He and Kelly worked quickly together, and in moments my neck and head were immobile, locked in a brace and wedged into something hard pressed against either side of my head.

"Get me an IV kit," he said over his shoulder. I tensed. Would they....? "You're going to feel a few pokes," Brian told me as he reached for the kit. "I'm starting an IV line." Careful to avoid the lacerations and bruises, he tied a tourniquet around my upper arm and swabbed my hand with alcohol. "Little stick here."

I glanced down and saw him holding a length of tubing with a cap on the end. There was no needle attached.

Gently but firmly, he held the capped tube against the back of my hand. Remembering his instructions ("React accordingly"), I flinched and made a small sound. "Aah..."

"I know. I'm sorry. There, it's done." Brian held the capped tube against my hand and taped it into place. My gaze followed the tubing to a bag of clear fluid that he hung on a pole next to my stretcher. "I've got a line in her," he said as he finished securing the "IV line" on my arm. "So far, she's semi-conscious and responding to pain stimuli."

Adrenaline and apprehension had taken over completely now. I was trembling violently, and my breath was coming in gasps. "She's going into shock," Brian announced. "Shallow, rapid breaths." As if on cue, my next breath caught sharply in my throat, and I was seized by a fit of coughing.

The team sprang into action. In a matter of seconds, my shirt had been cut and torn open to reveal the gashes and bruises on my chest and sides. A flimsy, thin "shock blanket" was thrown over my upper chest and shoulders in an attempt to preserve some modesty.

"Lots of bruising on the right side," Kelly said. A stethoscope pressed against my chest. "Breathe for me, sweetheart." I took a shallow breath. The sound startled me. Where did THAT come from?

The stethoscope moved. "Again." Another shallow breath and a pitiful moan, followed by a cough. "Diminished breath sounds," Kelly reported. "Definite chest trauma. Probable punctured or collapsed lung. Let's get her some help here." An oxygen mask was placed gently over my nose and mouth, and the strap secured around my head. The whirlwind of activity continued, leaving me too preoccupied to feel claustrophobic from the mask.

"She's got a compound fracture and jagged open wound on the left leg," Karen spoke up. "Get me a splint, somebody." She produced a handful of gauze, and dabbed away some of the blood covering my leg. "We're going to put a splint on your leg to immobilize it," she told me. I nodded mutely.

An inflatable temporary splint was secured around my leg, jostling it in the process. If this was real, that would really hurt. "Ow!" I cried. "My leg!"

"Easy," Brian said calmly. I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or to the team, telling them to be careful. "Just relax. Breathe through the pain until it passes."

The ambulance turned a sharp corner and stopped abruptly. "We're at the hospital, hon," Karen told me as she moved to the head of the stretcher. "Hang in there." The rear doors of the ambulance were flung open, and Nick, Brian, and Kelly surrounded me. In moments, my stretcher had been unloaded from the ambulance and we were racing through a set of doors into the emergency room.

"MVA victim, head and chest trauma," Brian called out as we rushed down an immaculate white corridor. "Taylor, a seventeen-year-old female."

Doctors and nurses surrounded my stretcher. I noticed that the doctor standing over my right shoulder had a temporary "Every Fifteen Minutes" sticker on his name badge. "Lift and transfer on my count," a commanding voice ordered. "One, two, three.... lift." Still strapped firmly to the backboard, I was lifted from the stretcher and transferred to a waiting bed.

The doors burst open again, and two more paramedic teams rushed into the room with stretchers. I realized that Lauren and Josh had arrived moments behind me. I caught snippets of the conversations between the doctors and paramedics.

"Seventeen-year-old female; her name is Lauren," one of the paramedics from her team announced. "Severe closed head injury. Unresponsive to stimuli and commands. Her pulse and BP are fluctuating, and she's unable to breathe on her own."

"We've got Josh, a sixteen-year-old male," another voice said. "Responsive and breathing mostly unaided, but breaths are shallow and labored. Left arm is fractured, with potential nerve damage. There was no response to contact or pain in either leg, and he reported a loss of feeling below the waist. Likely a spinal cord injury; possible paralysis. We're waiting on a CT and x-rays to confirm."

I hadn't thought it was possible, but the frenetic pace and chaos increased. I lay rigidly on the hard, uncomfortable backboard, watching the whirlwind of activity. Overlapping voices asked questions, received answers, and shouted commands. I was hooked to a tangled web of monitors and wires, poked, prodded, shifted, questioned, and examined by a blur of faces and hands. Machines clicked and beeped.

A man's face, with unruly dark brown hair and glasses, appeared in my line of vision. His gray eyes regarded me kindly. He wasn't smiling, but his intense and focused gaze was reassuring. "Taylor; is that your name?" I nodded slightly, as much as my immobilized head and neck would allow. "Okay. You've been in a car accident, and you're in the hospital emergency room now. We'll take good care of you."

The nurse standing behind him picked up a clipboard. "We need to ask you some questions so we can figure out how to help you." She gently stroked my hair. "You can't really move your head because of that neck brace. If it's too difficult for you to talk, you can blink or squeeze my fingers. Two for yes, one for no. Understand?" I managed another miniscule nod.

She looked at her clipboard. "Are you allergic to antibiotics? Penicillin?"

"No," I whispered.

"Are you allergic to any medications?"

"Yes." She recorded that information on the clipboard.

Amidst all the chaos, my shoes and socks had disappeared. A needle scratched gently across my right heel. "Can you feel that?" the doctor asked.

"Yes."

Left heel. "How about that?"

"Yes."

He smiled slightly. "That's good news and bad news. The good news is that you have feeling in your legs. The bad news, however, is that you can probably feel that nasty compound fracture on your left leg."

"Hurts," I murmured through the oxygen mask. "Everything hurts."

The doctor nodded. "I know. I'd like to make it not hurt, but we can't give you anything just yet. Hang in there."

He moved to stand behind me and placed his hands on either side of my head. "Let me know if this hurts." His fingers moved over my neck and shoulders, prodding gently. I flinched, squeezing my eyes shut. "Okay, we've got C-spine tenderness. She responded to pain stimuli below the waist, so there's no paralysis, but she definitely has spinal trauma. Let's keep the head and neck immobilized and keep her on the backboard for now."

"Your chest and sides are pretty bruised." The nurse gently ran her fingers over the dark bruises. "Especially the right side. Does it hurt when you breathe?"

Kelly answered that question for me. "She definitely has chest trauma. Breath sounds are diminished on the right side. Probably a punctured or collapsed lung."

Karen met my gaze and held it as she reached over me to my heart monitor and fiddled with something on it. The green line of my pulse and heartbeat, which had been moving steadily and calmly across the screen, suddenly jumped into an uneven, jagged rhythm. "Blood pressure's dropping," she reported. "She's losing awareness." I understood. My head lolled limply to the side, and I closed my eyes.

"Taylor." A woman's voice spoke loudly near my ear. "You still with us, sweetheart?"

I managed not to flinch or react as my eyelids were lifted and a bright penlight flashed briefly into each eye. "Pupils are fixed and dilated; no response to light stimuli."

My heart monitor emitted an odd, shrill noise. The team of doctors and technicians leaped into action. "Pulse is 45," a female voice shouted. "Pressure's dropped to 30/20."

Another jolt of adrenaline, and I felt my heart rate increase. The monitor sounded in response, and then settled back into the simulated "crashing" rhythm. I had no idea what Karen had done to it, but whatever it was, was working.

Suddenly, there was a new sound from the heart monitor: the steady, monotone whine of a flatline.

My breath caught in my throat, and I swallowed hard.

"She's flatlining!" someone yelled. "We're losing her!" Blankets flew off of the bed and hit the floor. The oxygen mask over my nose and mouth was replaced with a manual compression bag.

The next ten minutes passed in a blur as the medical staff worked frantically to "revive" me. Dazed, I listened through the roaring in my ears as faraway voices shouted commands.

One voice abruptly jolted me out of my daze. "She's still flatlining, and at a standstill. We've lost her. I think we're going to have to call it." There was a pause. "Time of death, 10:05 AM."

"Parents are here with an officer. Let's tag her and get her cleaned up before we bring them in."

Several pairs of hands moved over my body, disconnecting monitors, removing the neck brace and oxygen bag, cleaning off some of the blood and gore, and patting bandages into place. I felt a tug on my foot, followed by something clipping onto my toe, and realized that I was wearing a morgue ID tag.

"Can somebody page the chaplain? I'll notify the parents."

"I'll come with you." That was Officer Bodi's voice. I had forgotten that she was there. Footsteps squeaked across the tile floor, and the door opened and closed.

I trembled so violently that my teeth chattered.

The door opened again, and I heard the indistinguishable murmur of voices. There was a gasp, and a cry. "Oh...." I closed my eyes tightly. Mom.

"Are.... Are you sure?" I couldn't tell if Dad was asking the doctors if they were sure that I was dead, or Officer Bodi if she was sure that it wasn't real.

More footsteps, and then I felt Dad's hand settle heavily on my shoulder. His voice was choked with tears. "Dear God...."

I tried to control my breathing, fighting desperately against the flood of tears that threatened to break loose. I lay there, unmoving, as my parents touched me, hugged me, and cried.

Several long moments passed, each of which felt like an eternity. There was a sniffle and a deep, shuddering breath. "Okay," Dad said quietly. His hand lingered on my cheek. Mom gently caressed my forehead. Then their weight disappeared from the sides of the stretcher, and footsteps shuffled as they slowly backed away. The door closed with a sharp click, and then there was nothing but complete and utter silence.

I opened my eyes to find Officer Bodi watching me. I pushed myself upright and clawed at the morgue tag on my foot. "Get this off of me. I-I can't...." The words caught in my throat as I dissolved into tears.

"Okay." She stepped to my side and hugged me gently. "All right." I buried my head in my hands, crying so hard that I was breathless.

"Rough, isn't it?" she asked, handing me a Kleenex. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "It's hard, and it's awful. I'm sorry." I could only nod wordlessly.

Finally, I managed to choke out one word. "Never," I whispered. "Never, never, never."

Officer Bodi understood. "Good," she said simply. "Good."
---

Author's Note: All of our parents knew that it was just a simulation. However, this is one of the worst things that a parent can ever hear about their child. Hearing a chaplain and a doctor tell them that I was dead, having doctors describe my “injuries” in detail, and seeing me covered in stage blood and yucky makeup was really hard for my parents. They knew it wasn’t real, but their eyes and minds didn’t quite cooperate, and it was very upsetting.

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Only 1 review?
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PART II: Grim Reaper

9:00 AM

While Josh, Lauren, and I were at the hospital and Patrick, Emily, Andrea, and Michael were waiting for their portion of the program after lunch, Part Two of the program was beginning for the rest of the students.

Dr. Holley's US History class had just settled in to begin watching a video about the Vietnam War when there was a knock at the door. "Come in," he called, pausing the DVD and heading for the door. The door opened, and the classroom fell silent. A man cloaked in flowing black robes, carrying a plastic scythe, and with ghastly pale face paint stepped into the room. The students stared in shock and bewilderment.

He motioned curtly with one hand. "Leslie Hill, come with me." A girl with long blond hair stood up from her seat in the back of the room, shouldered her backpack, and walked towards him. Wordlessly, the Grim Reaper led her out the door.

A uniformed police officer entered the room after them. "The Grim Reaper has just claimed his first victim today. Every fifteen minutes, someone in the United States is killed in an alcohol-related traffic incident. Leslie is now one of them." He produced a folded piece of paper from his pocket, opened it, and read.

"Seventeen-year-old Leslie Hill died Tuesday, in a car crash caused by drunk driving. She was an honors student and a member of NHS. She loved horseback riding and ice skating, and her dream was to compete in the equestrian events of the Olympics. She was actively involved in many community service projects, and loved to serve others. She is survived by her parents and her ten-year-old brother Nathan." He looked around, meeting the gaze of those students who were facing him, and left the room.

Ten minutes later, Leslie returned. She was wearing a black "Every Fifteen Minutes" t-shirt, and a morgue ID tag hung around her neck. Her face was painted a ghostly grayish-white, and large dark circles rimmed her eyes. Wordlessly, she sat down in her chair and faced the front of the room.

The "deaths" continued through the morning, with students being removed from their classrooms every fifteen minutes. Short obituaries were read for each of them. With instructions not to speak or interact with students or teachers, they drifted silently through the hallways as walking dead.
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To be continued! I wasn't a huge fan of this chapter when I wrote it, but I hope that you will enjoy future chapters. I'll have more posted soon.

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Hey,

Before even reading it, I think it would be better to make these in individual chapters. Reading it in one go, is slightly over whelming and the words seem smushed up. I really think that this should be in individual chapters or when you complete it, out it in Advanced Critiques. Now I'll read it and give you a full review.

~Jasmine Bells~
Peace, Love, Writing, Music, Insanity and SNOWDAYS!!

Do you mean that I should post each chapter as a separate segment? I thought about doing that, but I think it would be too confusing for people to have to hunt for all the chapters.

Thanks for the input. I'm curious to have your opinion on the story when you've finished reading.

Did this actullay happen? Because if it did, that was completly unfair! There are other ways of getting people to stop drink-driving...

Yes, it did. Every Fifteen Minutes is a nationwide program that dozens of schools participate in every year. My school did it last year, in May 2009.

And no, unfortunately, there is really no other way to get the message across. Believe me, if there were, we would do it gladly. This wasn't easy for any of us. But they've tried almost everything else. There have been crushed cars on display, videos of accident scenes, and panels of victims and families who speak to students.

Those things are powerful, but they actually don't have much impact. Most teenagers are convinced that they are untouchable, and that what they hear and see in videos and presentations about drunk driving will never happen to them. There is a sense of, "Oh, those poor people. That's horrible and really sad – but it won't happen to me/my friends." The speakers and people shown in the videos are not them or their friends/family members/siblings. In the E15M program, students see their classmates and friends (and themselves) being treated by medical workers and sometimes pronounced dead. They realize that it can impact them and those who they are close to, and not just strangers.

Thanks for the input! We always enjoy hearing people's opinion on the program.

I hope to have a few more updates posted soon.

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BlueKangaroo wrote:Do you mean that I should post each chapter as a separate segment? I thought about doing that, but I think it would be too confusing for people to have to hunt for all the chapters.

Thanks for the input. I'm curious to have your opinion on the story when you've finished reading.

If you post a chapter with a similar title, it will appear in "Related Topics" tab on the top left of your post. So no hunting will be needed!

As for your writing, I like the style that somewhat makes this halfway between conventional prose with detail and natural dialogue, and half way into reality, keeping it sure to the reader on each and every event. One thing I would point out though is some of the sentence structures that can make odd points, mostly in your first chapter, feel a little to spared and there's a little envy for a bit more detail. Also, although this appears to be a tale, try to keep it a bit more formal. A construction of Non-Fiction alters differently to a reader than a construction of Fiction prose. It's important that you go one way or the other, because this could possibly be breaching on a "True Story" rather than a "Tale", but as it's about your experiences, not quite so.

I found it very enlightening and I enjoyed reading it. Well done.
~Ben

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PART III: Car Crash

Four Hours Earlier – 8:20 AM

After Officer Bodi and Officer McIntosh had left with Josh, Lauren, and me, Officer Lakin looked at the four students who remained.

"After lunch, there will be two severely damaged cars sitting outside in front of the building. The four of you will go with one of our makeup artists. That's why we asked you to bring a change of clothes. You'll be made to look like you've been severely injured in an automobile accident. Michael, you will be the intoxicated driver." Laughter rippled through the small circle, and Officer Lakin smiled wryly. Then he grew serious again. "Emergency crews will be notified, and respond accordingly. Your fellow students will watch as you are treated and taken for medical attention." They nodded.

Officer Lakin motioned to someone outside the door, and a tall woman with short blond hair stepped into the room. "This is Heni Orr. She's a freelance makeup artist who does a lot of work with the ATF, FBI, and CERT, so she knows what she's doing. She has offered to help us out today."

Heni smiled. "Hi, guys. Who's going to be my first victim?"

"Michael is our drunk driver," Officer Lakin told her. "Patrick is a DOA victim, Emily is critically injured and unresponsive, and Andrea is seriously injured but in fairly stable condition. Can you work with that?"

Heni nodded. "I definitely can. Who's first?"

She worked with the four students one by one, just as Lisa and Pam had done for us, transforming them from healthy students to horribly injured accident victims.

Emily grimaced. "This is gross."

"How come we look like something from a horror film, and Michael over there just has a few cuts and bruises?" Patrick spoke up as he examined his reflection in the mirror.

"That gaping, bloody gash on his forehead is pretty gruesome," Officer Lakin remarked. "The reason for his lack of injuries is that intoxication relaxes the body. The drunk driver's muscles are loose and relaxed, so he can move with the motion of the impact – that is, until something like the hard surface of the dashboard, steering wheel, or pavement stops him," he added. "But the victims who are not intoxicated are not relaxed, and their bodies aren't prepared for impact. Thus, the horrible wounds, broken bones, and internal injuries."

"Precisely." Heni nodded as she applied the finishing touches to a bleeding laceration on Emily's arm. "There you go. MVA moulage."

"How lovely." Officer Lakin surveyed the "victims" and shuddered. "Thank you, Heni. All right, everybody, you can relax and sit tight until we're ready for your role in Part Two of today's activities."

-o-o-o-o-

12:00 PM

Officer Lakin opened the door to the meeting room and laughed. Tic-tac-toe and Hangman games covered most of the whiteboard on the front wall. "A little bored, are we?"

"Yes," Patrick replied seriously. "We look horrible, so we can't go anywhere, or we'll freak people out."

"And ruin the surprise," the officer reminded him. "Remember, the other students don't know anything about this."

Andrea glanced up from the open textbook in front of her. "Do you know anything about conjugating Spanish verbs?"

"Nope." Officer Lakin laughed. "Sorry. I only know a few police-related phrases. Miranda rights, 'Drop your weapon', 'Police; freeze', that sort of thing. Besides, there's no time for me to help you anyway. Part Two of the day begins right after lunch, which means that we have about twenty minutes. We need to brief you and get you in position. You ate lunch earlier, didn't you?" The students nodded. "Good. It's going to be a busy afternoon, and it would be even longer for you if you were hungry." He motioned to the door. "If you're ready, follow me outside."

Looking relieved and slightly apprehensive, the four students followed him out the door and down the hallway.

"Whoa, where did those come from?" Michael exclaimed as they stepped through the front door of the building. Two severely mangled cars sat in the middle of the street.

"MADD, the police department, and the local towing company," Officer Lakin told him. "This is part two of today's events."

A blond ponytailed female officer emerged from behind one of the cars. "This is Teri Manning," Officer Lakin said. "Teri, these are our student victims."

"I can tell," she said wryly. "Heni outdid herself this time. Has the situation been explained to you?" Michael, Patrick, Emily, and Andrea nodded. "The four of you have just been involved in a terrible accident. Emergency crews have been notified, and are on their way to you." Teri checked her watch. "We have about fifteen minutes to get you settled in position and set up the rest of the scene. An appropriate number for today," she added with a smile. "Are you ready?" They nodded

Three more officers were working amidst the chaos. "I'm Lieutenant Jeff Hart," one of the men spoke up. "I can see who our victims are. Who's who?"

"Michael here is our intoxicated driver," Officer Lakin told him. "Patrick is a DOA victim. Emily is critically injured and unresponsive, and Andrea is responsive and fairly stable. Feel free to change that up if you need to."

"We can work with it," Lieutenant Hart said confidently. "Actually, that's perfect. Come with me, and let's get you in position."

"Quickly, but carefully," Officer Manning said over her shoulder. "We don't want any real injuries today." The lieutenant and the students nodded.

By the time ten minutes had passed, the scene was set. Michael was sitting in the driver's seat of a severely damaged car, surrounded by broken glass and debris. An empty beer can sat in the seat next to him, and two empty bottles lay next to the right front tire. Andrea was wedged tightly in the backseat of the second car, trapped firmly but carefully between broken seats, twisted metal, and debris. Patrick's upper body lay across the hood of the car, his lower body still inside and tangled in the twisted and dangling seatbelts. Emily was crumpled forward so that her arm hung limply out the window and her head rested on the dashboard. The crushed front of the car effectively pinned her in her seat.

Two other student volunteers had also been placed in the wreckage. Stage blood and broken glass had been scattered liberally across the cars and pavement.

"Disgusting," Michael said aloud.

"Your fault," Emily retorted. Her tone lay somewhere between lighthearted teasing and completely serious. "Look what your mad party skills did to us." The four students laughed, but it was a hollow and feeble sound.

"Perfect timing," Officer Manning announced, looking at her watch again. "Lunch is just ending, and the first group of students should be coming outside in a minute."

As if on cue, a door on the side of the building opened, and a group of girls spilled out, talking and laughing. As they rounded the corner and spotted the gruesome accident scene, they froze in their tracks. "Oh, my God," one of them cried. "What the....?"

By now, all of the students knew that something was going on. Why else would they be guided outside to the front of the school by a teacher, instead of commanded to return to class by the bell? As all of the teachers and students gradually reached the scene, each of their reactions was the same: shock and horror, relief as they realized that it was staged, and puzzlement at what was happening.

Finally, after several minutes, everyone was seated or standing in a position to see what was going on. Lieutenant Hart held a short, discreet conversation on his radio, and the drama began.

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