It was your basic Friday night in the summer of 1993 and it was going to be one I would not forget. I was on the front porch smoking cigerettes and listening to music with my walkman when a voice came to me in my head but not in my earphones and said don't go out tonight. I didn't really take it seriously cause it was just a strange thought I was having. I considered taking the warning as more than just a thought but I did not, in fact I didn't think of it much at all. Just a boring night of listening to music.

	At the time I was full of energy that was hard to get rid of, I had to do some sort of exercise or else I would go crazy. Most nights I would get on my bike and ride around the downtown trying to do some tricks and goin real fast through alleys and parking lots and things. Not thinking about the warning I decided to get on my bike and go for a ride, seeing how fast I could go on a street that had severe downgrade to it. It was not the first time I went down this street and I liked goin as fast as possible anyway.

	Goin real fast that night and bam, I wrecked. What happened was my foot fell off the pedal got cauught between it and the concrete and I fell onto the street tumbling and sliding. When I woke up everything turned red, then the pain hit. I started to walk and my ankles could barely support my weight, the pain was so bad I couldn't even call out for help. It's not like I was wearing protective clothing, I was completely covered in road rash and began my walk home. I stashed my bike in some tall grass.

	A couple nights after my wreck I was sitting in my room, no sleep. I didn't go to the hospital because I didn't want anyone to touch me, let alone clean my wounds. At the time I had long hair and I remember peeling it out of my abrasions as they scabbed up. Days and nights came and went as I sat Indian style on the floor of my bedroom, I lost so much weight cause I didn't eat anything for days. A while later, like a week I was finally healed enough to lay in my bed. That was the start of it all.