102 people die in car accidents every day, in the United States.

One hundred and two.

When you think of the amount of people living in this country, it's not a lot.

Yet, when you think of every person who was affected by the passing of each of those one hundred and two people, it becomes a lot. I had been one before. I was now one, again.

One hundred and two. On average.

Most of them are good people, I'm sure. Every day, normal people. Just like you. Just like me. My mom was one of them.

Some of them were bad people, I'm also sure. Although I'm not precisely certain on what qualifies someone as a bad person, Jax counted as one. That much I know.

He was one of the one hundred and two people.

It could have been me, instead. It could have been me, easily.

I'm not sure that Jax intended for his final chapter in life to be this mess. I'm not sure of his intentions at all.

But, this was his final chapter. There's no redos. There's no rewrite. There's no editing. Jax's final chapter was written. It was published. It was printed.

What if it had been mine? What if this had been my final chapter?

It would be an awful one to read, for anyone.

There's too many loose ends. So many.

It could have been me.

Jax wasn't killed by some well planned twist of the plot, karmic and foreshadowed.

No. He was killed in the most simple of ways. So simple you would think the author of his life had just given up.

But, is it simple?

If he had simply forgotten his keys in the house, and ran back to get them... would he still be here?

If my mom had decided to stop for coffee that morning... would she still be here?

If Jax had stayed at homecoming instead of coming to my house that night... would I still be here?

Is it... simple?

If this was my final chapter, what would I write?

It could have been me. It could have been Austin. It could have been Olivia. It could have been my dad.

It could have been Zane.

But it wasn't. It was Jax. And all of our stories are still left to write.

It's not simple.

What should I write?