So things were not going well with James. He didn't agree with the fact that I was dating Isaac, he didn't like me fighting as much as I was...he was being a jerk, in more simple terms. Finally, I thought that things couldn't possibly get any worse, I was, again, proved wrong.

It was the night of the big championship offroad race about 10 miles north of Troy. I had entered in the race with James as my partner, who would be sitting next to me while I was driving. That's one of the big rules in offroad racing; you always have to have someone with you, just in case you smash your head and the other person needs to grab the wheel or something. Anyway, that's not really an important part of the story. I drove James' 2000 Dodge Ram, lifted, huge tires (in other words, kind of hard to drive) to the starting point, which was almost in the middle of the woods. James looked over at me as I strapped myself in with the second set of seatbelts. "I have a really bad feeling about this race." he said. I snorted and looked over at him. "Why, because we're going to race through the woods in the middle of the night without any lights on? That gives you a bad feeling?" I asked sarcastically. James glared at me. "That's not what I meant. It just feels wrong to be out here tonight." he said. I shook my head and pushed the clutch in so that I could shift into first gear. "Yeah. Well, we're two illegal street racer/fighters sitting in an unregistered, illegaly pumped up vehicle. I don't blame you. I feel a little wrong here too." I said quietly. James shook his head and fastened his other seatbelt, then turned up the music. I looked up at the checkered flag and watched as it dropped. I slammed my foot on the gas and let off the clutch, and we jumped forwards. James grabbed the side bar and held on tight. I whipped around the first turn and shifted down into fourth, then slammed on the gas to straighten my backend out. The wind was wild that night, and I could feel it pushing at me, and it even distracted me when I looked off to the side of the road and saw the trees bending over and breaking. James saw it too. "That doesn't look good." he said as he watched one tree break behind us in the side mirror. I concentrated on the road ahead of me, focused on being first, because I had finally pulled away from all of the other drivers. I saw it before I should've though. It was like a dream that you dream before you're about to die, a sort of prologue to what's about to happen.

It was a big tree.

I saw the tree falling, but for some reason, I didn't feel the need to try to stop. It was a thick tree, too large to hug even if you had big arms...and it fell directly infront of the truck. I started to touch the brakes but it was no use...we were already going to fast. The front tires hit the tree and the truck was launched off the side of the road, directly shoved between two other trees which were only 5 feet away from each other. The truck squeezed between them, the sound of crunching metal and exploding parts too much to handle. The truck shut off completely, no lights, nothing but blackness and it burst into flame. I opened the door and jumped out, then turned and dragged James out directly behind me. I only dragged him about 20 feet before I couldn't walk anymore, and then I dropped him and myself to the ground. He looked up at me, in shock, and then I let my eyes drift down to his legs. The left leg was so badly mangled that it was almost beyond recognition as a leg. The bone had ripped itself completely out of the skin and was hanging by a thin cord out of his leg, drenched in blood. His right leg was obviously broken, twisted in an inhuman way. I was almost to point of breaking down myself when Scott pulled up next to us in the Blazer he had driven to the race. "What happened?" he asked. I looked up at him. "Really bad accident...we have to get James to the hospital right away!" I yelled. The next few hours went by in a blur of white lights and needles, doctors and water, things I hate more than anything. One of my ribs was broken badly, but I couldn't find time to get it fixed that night...instead, I had to wait until the next night. James on the other hand, couldn't wait. He had to have slight reconstructive surgery to the burnt skin on his face, and something had to be done with his legs. The doctor, Dr. McGram, came out of James' room after he had been stabilized, his hands still covered in blood. "Walk with me to the decontamination room." he said quietly. I followed him and stood by him as he washed his hands. "There is a large possibility that we will have to amputate Avalanche's leg." he said simply. I stared at him. "And...it sucks that YOU have to tell him." I said slowly. McGram blushed a little. "Actually...we were going to do it while he's asleep." he said. I stared at him. "You can't do that." I said. He sighed. "It's in his best interest." he said. I grabbed his shirt collar and dragged him down to my level. "You don't understand what I'm telling you. You can't just chop off his leg while he's asleep or when he wakes up there's going to be hell to pay." I said. He gently removed my hand and coughed a little. "Well, I'm sorry Maytrix...but the doctors are removing it now." he said. I started to run out the door, but he grabbed me. "No, you can't interrupt the surgery." He said. I strained against him. "You can't just screw up someone's life like this!" I screamed at him. He shrugged. "You two screwed up your own lives. This is to help." he stated.

The next day, I was there when he woke up. I was leaning against the doorframe of his hospital room, to be more specific.

The scream that came out of the room still echoes in my head when I think about that night.

I walked into his room and sat down next to his bed, where he was still looking under the sheets at his half leg. "What the hell did they do to me?!" he asked. I looked at the floor. "They thought it would get infected so they had to remove it." I said. James' glared at me. "And you didn't try to stop them?" he asked. I glared back. "Actually, I did, and they wouldn't have any of it. Apparently they actually care whether you live or not." I said sarcastically. James looked out the window. "I can't fight anymore, can I?" he said quietly. I sighed. "No, you really shouldn't. Not unless you enter fist only fights and those aren't anything but lower levels who can't kick, so I wouldn't recommend it." I said. James looked at me, looking completely defeated. "Sara, I have been through alot of things in my life. I can't handle this...any of this...what will Mike think? Now I'm not the big strong Dad I was when he last saw me...how am I suppose to explain this?" he asked (for the record, Mike was James' five year old son). I shook my head. "I guess we'll have to cross that bridge when we get to it." I said. He sighed and leaned his head into the pillow. "It could be worse I guess...Mike could've been in the truck. Don't know what I would do if I lost him." he said finally. I smiled. "I know...luckily you don't have to worry about that happening for awhile."

Question: How many times can one person be wrong in a lifetime?
Answer: Too many.

To be continued...