"Brace for impact." I feel arms wrap around my waste as my scooter veers right. The road is gravelly, not unlike the rough roads I used to take my anger out on. Our rears move in synchrony and, from the way mine squeezes together, as if afraid of that which is behind it; my companion is male. It is frightening, as they don't ride with me ever; but it is comforting. His nose digs into my neck, inhaling the scent of my loose hair which, for some reason, has no helmet to protect it.

Then, without warning, I am flying. All I hear are screams before my forward, unaccompanied momentum ends and I begin a steep decent. Flying has become falling in mere seconds.

Water.

Shattering.

"Matt, shut up." The rustling of dead twigs and barely alive leaves awakens me from my stupor. The world fades back into my presence faster than it left it.

"Ooooh, is my little sister afraid of ghosts?" His voice is like a wooden ball, hitting me in the jugular. It is playful, dull, and immature.