I never did value human life. I thought it was just a meaningless spiral of unnecessary unhappiness, betrayal and occasional enjoyable moments, but what was the point? Life wasn't fun. It was dull. All we did was live to die and have to deal with everything in between. It was unneeded pain and living itself was just a waste of time. It hurt to live.

The way I thought about life continued after my mother's death. Life was uninteresting and cruel; I just began to put my life before more things after she died. I started to worry about whether I'd die at the wrong time, just like she did.

This was what happened on the day my mother died.

The harsh, vicious rain was pelting down on the car's windows. Inside was my mother and I, who were sat quietly. Some music she'd put on was hushed in the background, but it was just some old classical music that she liked. It was barely noticeable. Every now and then, we exchanged subtle words, nothing more and nothing less.

Ever since I could remember, my mother would check her phone at certain traffic lights. These were the ones that took the longest to change colours and I was in charge of using my watchful eye to judge when they were changing and pass on the information.

We stopped at a set on one corner, an ancient fish and chip shop to our right and on our left, a skateboarding park. Behind that was an endless field that was often muddy due to England's rain. In front of us were the traffic lights, ruby red, amber and bright jade green.

"They're green," I joked like I always did. My mother's reaction was what I hadn't predicted.

The car lurched forward at an unbelievable speed. My mum was always one to attempt to impress others with speed, even though she didn't have an expensive car.

"Luna!" She screamed out as the car spun out of control, a bright, sapphire-coloured car coming from the other direction. I saw frightened faces behind the steering wheel.

It was too late. Neither of the drivers could stop, so my mum just tried her best to get us out of the crash. Her attempt was to no avail.

The other car flung into ours, their bonnet hitting the doors on my mother's side of our vehicle. She let out a shriek that was cloaked in pain.

The sounds of metal against metal were unbearable. Joined with the sounds of spinning tyres on the wet ground and the rain that was beginning to stop, I didn't think I'd ever forget the noise.

My worried gaze drifted over to my mother. I didn't have to look twice to know that she was dead.

Choking back cries, I opened my side of the door. I struggled because although the only damage I'd been through was my head bashing against the window, the side of the bonnet that I was on had smacked into a tree. The door got jammed against the trunk but with a little bit of force, I was free.

I headed to the other car. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, 23:00pm. I phoned the police and an ambulance quickly as I approached the treacherous sight that was the other family's car.

It was flaming at the back. I could hear heavy breaths. The man and the woman at the front of the car were completely lifeless, their hands connected between them. I cried out.

My mother wasn't the only one that died because of me.

I heard a cracking noise and the back door of the other car slammed open. A boy covered in fresh, sticky-looking crimson blood - whose I didn't know - and looked at me with alarmed eyes, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"I'm guessing you're the other survivor," he managed to say, his voice cracking, "You don't look harmed at all."

"My mum, s-she..." I began to weep again, fresh tears strolling down my cheeks, "She spun the car so I wouldn't get hurt."

"I see."

It was quiet for a moment before the boy pulled out his own phone. He began to tap in numbers when I interrupted, saying, "I've already called the cops and an ambulance. They'll probably be here soon."

In a swift motion, he slipped his phone back into his pocket. He looked up at me again with watery green eyes that reminded me of moss. He began to speak, "My name's Elliott."

He sounded familiar. I held out a hand which he shook, "I'm Luna."

Sirens were approaching us at a rapid pace. I sighed and stepped back towards the wreck that was my mum's black car. Elliott quickly reached out and grasped my wrist, his large hand enclosing around it.

"You might as well stay over here," he suggested, shrugging as he released my arm, "They'll only send us off together anyway."

I glanced at him properly for the first time. That was when I realised I knew him from somewhere - my English class.

"You're in my English class," I repeated my thoughts.

"I am?" He questioned, raising his dark eyebrows, "I don't really pay attention to people. I don't do friends."

I didn't respond. I didn't know what to say - what do you say to someone who you saw potential friendship in after they say they 'don't do' friends?

The police sprinted over to us. I spun my body around so I was facing them instead of the wreckage. I wasn't interested in seeing my mother's blood-stained, already bruised and very dead body.

"So, kids. What happened here?" One of them asked a little too casually, considering what had just happened.

I could tell Elliott's temper was as short as mine. As if his fuse had been lit, he hissed, "What does it look like?"

The man shot him a look. His colleague interrupted, "Sorry - don't mind him. I know it must be hard."

He gestured for his coworker to deal with the cars themselves and review it. The other policeman cluttered off but not before shooting Elliott dangers.

"My mum drove into the road during the period of time that the traffic lights were green," I admitted, feeling guilt eating at my insides. If there was one thing I wasn't going to do, however, it was telling the police that I was the reason behind it all.

"I see," he nodded, noting it down, "Your mother's name, please?"

"Grace Adams," I informed him, feeling tears prick at my eyes again. "I'm Luna Adams."

The policeman nodded again, giving me a pitiful look as he saw the tears spilling down my cheeks again. He turned to Elliott, "And your parents?"

"Lucy and Harry Hastings," Elliott replied simply, his dark emerald eyes on me. He tried to give me a reassuring smile but I could see that even his eyes were beginning to water. He added, "I'm Elliott Hastings."

The policeman smiled gingerly at us. He looked back to his partner who was assessing the cars. My mum and Elliott's parents were gone; they'd been taken by the ambulance. I suspired deeply. My eyes were like a stream.

"It's going to be okay," Elliott whispered from behind me. I turned to him and shook my head.

"My mother was everything to me, Elliott. My father died when I was four. I have nobody," I told him, bursting into a fit of cries again. Elliott moved closer to comfort me, then he looked down at his clothes, realising that he was still caked in blood.

"Are you hurt?" I asked quietly. The words were barely a whisper.

"A little," he chuckled, lifting up the hem of his shirt to reveal a small gash across his stomach, "This happened when I was trying to get out of the car. The rest of the blood, well - i-it's not mine."

"Oh," I responded, "Come on, let's go."

I ushered him towards the other ambulance that had arrived, presumably for us. A woman jumped out of the back.

She headed over to us and we met in the middle. Elliott stepped forward, showing her the cut.

"Well, that's a nasty gash!" She said almost cheerfully. It definitely wasn't the appropriate tone of voice to use on two people who had just been orphaned, but I guess she was just trying to cheer us up.

Neither Elliott or I said anything. The ambulance left soon after and the policemen strode back over to us. I gulped as I saw the rude one who was already giving Elliott death glares.

"You two can go home now," the nicer one said, his muddy brown eyes kind, "I don't suppose either of you could offer the other to stay the night? I expect neither of you want to be alone."

I nodded, and Elliott did too. I began to talk, "I live quite far away but-"

"You can stay at mine," Elliott said quickly, "It's not far from here, actually."

The policemen gave us a ride back to Elliott's. I felt completely and utterly awkward and uncomfortable but I often had nightmares and especially after that, I wasn't willing to sleep in my mother's house on my own.

"I'm sorry for intruding," I said as I took off my shoes, placing them next to Elliott's. Before I knew it, I was welcomed by a little black pug who looked up at me with sweet, large brown eyes. I could tell it was a boy because he had a blue collar on.

"He's so cute!" I squealed as I looked at Elliott for permission to pick him up. He nodded at me and I lifted him up into my arms, stroking his head and back.

"You were saying?" Elliott joked. I followed him upstairs, the pug still in my arms.

"I don't want to be a nuisance," I told him. He shot me a look which said I wasn't. "What's his name?"

"Oh, this guy?" Elliott chuckled as he turned to stroke his pet's head, "He's Alfie."

"That's cute," I told him as I finally decided to put the dog down. That was when I realised I'd entered Elliott's bedroom.

"I'm sorry!" I squeaked out as I moved towards the door. Elliott's hand shot out to stop me.

His long, bony fingers covered the most part of my forearm. I felt my heart racing as he pulled me back towards him. I'd never had a boyfriend, so I hadn't been that close to a guy. Ever.

"It's okay," he breathed out, "I have a sofa in here. Um... I'll sleep on it, if you want..."

"No, you keep your bed," I smiled. He nodded in agreement, moving to sit on it.

I inched towards the sofa which was next to his bed, realising how humongous Elliott's room was. His parents must have adored him - it was covered in posters from concerts and other various events. I saw his eyes brim with tears. I decided not to say anything about it, not to comfort him. He got up, picked up a shirt and left in the direction of what I figured to be an en-suite bathroom.

I thought about my mother.

She was dead, and it had only just sunk in. I became a raging mess, sobbing on Elliott's floor. He rushed over to me and held me as if he truly knew who I was. I wept into his shoulder, ruining the fresh t-shirt he'd put on with my tears. They were unstoppable. Soon I felt water trickle down my neck and I knew that Elliott was bawling his eyes out too. He whimpered in my ear.

We were just two orphaned, broken souls, left in this bloodthirsty, remorseless and unkind world alone. Our parents who were our shields; our protectors were gone and we no longer had anyone to shelter us and tend to our needs.

That is, apart from each other.