By Ella McGuigan - Year 11, St Peter's College
It's not that scary. I know people say it is, but it's not.
The scary part is lying in the hard hospital bed, in a wing where people go in but don't always come out.
The nightmare comes and goes. It's the same every time.
It starts happy, with the sky a deep blue, the colour that always brings a cheerful day.
Yet it ends with a jerk, then complete darkness.
I hear my mother. I live for the sound of her voice, the comfort she brings.
She has barely left my side since the accident.
''How is she today, Mr Franks?'' I hear her ask in a tone that is beginning to lose hope.
''Still the same,'' replies the doctor. ''It was an extensive brain injury, and her brain scans still show very little sign of activity.''
It's funny though, how I'm telling this story, how I can remember all this, and still have all these flashbacks.
Nothing physical works, but I suppose my mind still does.
It kind of floats and it's the most peaceful feeling - like a sunset, the feeling a sunset gives you, the entire sky filled with reds and oranges, setting the clouds alight.
I hear my story all the time. Mum reads the local newspaper to Dad to pass the endless hours spent sitting at my bedside.
''Local 17-year-old Anastasia Hill is still in a critical condition after crashing her Toyota Surf on Redford Rd.''
The sensation of my mind floating is the most unbeatable feeling, but after days of this solitary existence, I am beginning to feel lonely and lost.
At night, among the bright hospital lights, fear grips me.
I realise how much I will lose if my 'physical' being does not wake up.
Even under all this bright artificial light and surrounded by night-shift nurses, I feel in the dark and very, very alone.
I come and go from my room ... mostly I go.
Being on ''the outside'' looking down at my body causes me to lose hope.
I can sense myself getting weaker, losing signs of life.
I'm done fighting. It's hard and I may not even be the same if I wake up.
Mum can sense it too.
''I don't want to lose her Dan. I can't.''
I think it's time though ... to let go. Maybe it's for the best.
My mind is lonely and all I'm able to reflect on is being knocked around in a twisted piece of metal.
I'm torn. The thought of death frightens me, but so does living.
A soft, flowing breeze ruffles my hair, giving me a sense of freedom.
It takes a few minutes to realise where I am, what I am.
I know people think it's terrifying, but its not.
It's not that scary.
