Work by participants in Ella West's Twisty Plots writers' workshop for teens

Before I knew it, it was time to go. I issued my books and followed Dad down the centuries-old stairs (or at least they looked centuries-old; who knew how long it was since someone cleaned them?) and into the carpark, which, rather coolly, was positioned under the library, 2 floors under the ground level. Dad’s clunky old Ford Ranger was stationed at the back of the small parking lot. I jumped in front while Dad struggled with the rusty door handle, tugging and pulling at it.

“First thing I do… (tug, tug) as soon… as I get some money… I swear I’ll… buy meself a new…(tug, tug) Toyota Corolla… instead of... this old pile of junk…” I smiled. Dad was right. A small windfall of money would solve our problems. When Dad finally got in the car, we drove straight back home. Well, after stopping at McDonald’s for a frozen Coke, of course. Dad insisted on buying two large frozen drinks to celebrate the very rare occasion of him finally getting out and about. But, as we pulled out of the drive-thru, a speedster zoomed in behind us and SLAM!!! went right smack into the rear of the car. Dad swerved out of control and steered the car into one of the many cliff faces along the road. I screamed as I was propelled forward in my seat. Dad panicked. The rest of it was a blur. I remember seeing the shocked faces of the people on the sidewalk. The last thing I remembered was my dad hugging me and saying the three most beautiful words ever that I will never ever forget:

“I love you.”