THESE CHRACTERS ARE NOT MINE (would if I could)

Wendy Moira Angela Darling, at 1900 hours on the eve of her 18th birth day with one hour until she would meet her soon to be husband, killed herself. She was holding her father's Browning L9A1 in her right hand, in the other she held a red moleskin journal with a name inscribed on the cover. "Peter" It was titled in her flowing handwriting, written with a purple sharpie. She had practiced for months before putting any words in the notebook. She only wanted the best to be written in the book.

She closed her honey brown eyes slowly, savoring the last view of the nursery that she had practically grown up in. The carpet, a soft heather gray that pushed between her toes, was the last thing she ever saw of that room. She had never actually considered the idea of killing herself before that specific day, but she awoke with an unexplainable feeling of dread that clung desperately around her in a fashion that she couldn't quite understand. She was a day away from being a real adult and nothing was turning out the way she wanted. Mostly because of the very moleskin journal she had toiled over for almost six years.

She could just barely hear the sounds of the party taking place two floors below her. They were celebrating her, and all she could imagine was the scrapping at the window that had haunted her every night for almost six months.

So, on the last page of her notebook, she had dutifully written in large red pen "HOOK."

Coincidentally, exactly three hundred miles away, on the Autoroute du Soleil on his way to Paris, France, the same Peter that her notebooks were so devoted to ran his silver Twingo off the road, going 85 miles per hour. He had fallen asleep listening to quiet Mozart Concertos and smoking a fair amount of Northern Lights marijuana. Peter Payan had turned 17 two weeks before and celebrated by pretending he ruled the world with all his friends. He stared blankly and unseeing at the semi barren land before him, and dropped a joint right into his lap the burning end hitting his thigh and waking him just as his car careened over and into a large ditch that seemed to be patiently awaiting him.

It would please many people to hear that his life flashed before his young eyes, so he could see a glimpse of a girl he had loved very much, but the last thing he ever saw was a streak of silver as something curved and metal flashed in the ditch. His senses dull he couldn't quite make out the feeling of dread that hung low in his stomach, causing a fair amount of his large breakfast to dislodge itself, before everything went black.