I awoke face down on the cold, dirty road. My face felt wet. Above me I heard the sounds of paramedics, police, and voices of witnesses.

They were all here for me.

The paramedics rolled me onto my back, and on a stretcher. My clothes were torn and ripped. Not to mention, bloody. After strapping oxygen bags (or whatever they're called) to my face, the medics tried speaking to me. "What's your name? Do you know where you are? How old are you?"

I knew what he was asking me, but all I could do was stare at his lips move. I didn't feel like answering. It just leads to more questions. From a distance I could hear a police officer say, "Jesus! There's chunks of flesh on the fences!!" and make noises of disgust and sickness.

I thought that was funny. I couldn't hide it. The paramedic looked and noticed me smiling. He furrowed his brow and squinted his eyes. Probably wondering if this little girl he had on the stretcher was capable of doing that to herself, or maybe it was just an accident.

He wiped off blood from my face and saw the marks that rejected more. Yeah, he could see what I had done.

From the crowd I heard a man say, "That's what the razor wire is for, to cut up those who can't keep out."

You're telling me.