A kid I graduated with was in a cement truck accident the other day. It flipped and threw him 100 yards. He was in a coma yesterday, a hole ripped in his aorta. Now he's dead.

I'm not quite sure what to think, or feel. If I can feel anything at all. He was one of the jocks, so I didn't really know him well, but I still feel somehow numb. Like he's not really dead, just off somewhere else.

If fate does exist, and he was meant to die, was the little he did all he was ever meant to accomplish? Why would someone even live for that little? My goal of living to be 120 seems a very steep one indeed now. It almost seems selfish to live that long. I don't know anymore..