I know I write a lot of comedy around here,  but this topic is something that should be of genuine interest to all of us (even more so its prevention).

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                                        “Skipping a Beat” by Edwin Felix

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“Hon-ney, I-I’ll promise I-I’ll be baack b-by e-leven sharp.”

“John, that’s what you said yesterday. The kids miss you. I miss you. The FAMILY misses you.”

That night, John did not return. Michelle, his wife, spent the better part of the night phoning everyone who might have the slightest idea of where John was. The one person who was able to tell her something was Kenneth, who had gone out drinking with him the night before. To the despair of Michelle, however, all he was able to convey was that he had not seen him again upon taking different paths after leaving the bar. All Kenneth would tell her was:

“D-D-Don’t woorry, Michelle, hee’ll be Iight.” (In a half drunken voice)

Perhaps the worst part for Michelle was explaining to the kids that their dad had not gone out for milk (as she had previously told them), but that he had gone on a drinking frenzy and was yet to come back.

What is a human being capable of doing under such grave circumstances? Waiting. Nothing more. Now on an emotional roller coaster, Michelle’s mind would constantly travel to earlier times, such as when she got married to John. Good, heroic, loving, chivalric John was all she could think of back in the day. What had caused such a drastic change in the man she once admired so fervently? The seasoning of Death itself, alcohol.

As usual, Michelle told herself everything would be ok. But it wasn’t. A phone ring followed by a grave voice changed everything.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid these are not easy news to deliver, so I need you to remain calm.”

“…..” (Heart skipping beats)

“Yesterday night, on I-10, we received reports that a man in a blue Honda Civic was continuously weaving in and out of lanes. Upon attempting to exit the roadway, the man drove under an approaching 18-wheeler. The man died almost instantaneously. I know this is hard, but we need you to come identify the body.”

Michelle couldn’t say a word. She burst out sobbing, punching the ground, yelling for John.

A few hours later, still emotionally battered, she headed out to the station. Michelle entered the gory building, still sobbing, and looked at the body. All of a sudden, her face lit up, and the sparkle of her beautiful hazel eyes returned. The body was not that of John’s. Now filled with hope, she left the gory building and got in her car.

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That night, while heading home, at approximately 9:43 PM, Michelle was killed by a drunk driver.

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That driver’s name, was John.

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Please, don’t drink and drive.