"I know that my parents wanted to go to LA for a long time. When we finally managed to organize everything, they got sick. Nothing bad, we flew anyway, but they still wanted to stay in bed first. I thought that was a waste of vacation time and asked to be allowed to look around alone.
I was so proud when they allowed me to, they really had to trust me, or else they had no strength to argue with me any further.
I got on a bus towards the beach, and looked around the bus in anticipation. It was pretty full and accordingly hot, there was only a little girl on the bus next to me; a little younger than me and apparently alone. She smiled shyly at me, I smiled back.
The bus drove off, it was so narrow that I didn't have to hold on because there wasn't enough space to fall over, the seats were all taken.
In my mind I was already on the beach, imagining the surfers, the tourists and the walkers.
I don't know what exactly happened, I don't think any of the others knew.
It all happened so fast and yet it seemed to happen in slow motion, damn it all in detail, but nothing to be able to do.
Most likely the bus did not fall on its side so painfully slowly, it is said to have overturned. But I was too busy curling up, otherwise the adults' bodies would have crushed me.
cut
The air was thick to cut, I could smell, almost taste, the fear and blood of other people. Most of them were unconscious, at least not moving, some groaning desperately.
It took a while until I had fought my way freely between people, I remember that very well. I was desperate, afraid I would have to die there.
When I did it, I couldn't stand, there were hands or feet everywhere, I looked down at myself, I thought the blood was that of the others. I felt no injuries, no pain, I was relieved.
I looked for the girl, it was behind a broken seat.
What I can also remember exactly is my question as to whether the bus might start to burn. If the tank is damaged, as you can often see on TV.
I struggled through to the other child, she was conscious, but seemed very bad, her head was bleeding, I suspected that she had bumped on the seats as she fell. Otherwise she wasn't hurt.
But it was bleeding so badly, her eyes seemed to be saying 'please help me'.
Unable to think of anything better, I took off my shirt, even if it was pretty bloody, and pressed it firmly to the wound.
I tried to calm her down, waiting for help.
cut
I passed out, I wouldn't have noticed if something hadn't changed. The shirt was soaked in blood, I shook the girl's shoulder. I couldn't feel her heartbeat, it was my fault. If I weren't so weak, if I had stayed awake, I could have helped her.cut
Something had changed again. The ghostly silence that had lain for what seemed like hours at the scene of the accident had given way to busy shouting. One wall of the bus had been opened because they couldn't get to the doors.
The other people were gone, but the smell stayed, to me the building still smelled of death and despair.
Panic rose in me, they mustn't forget us, everything in me screamed. I grabbed the girl's shoulders and lifted her with all my might from behind the rubble of the chair. It was so heavy.
I couldn't ever leave behind! What if I was wrong and she was still alive?
I couldn't make it too far, my field of vision was too blurry, I couldn't call for help, my throat was dry as ice, and my tongue seemed unable to form words.
I loosened one hand and hit the floor as hard as I could, at least it seemed to be the floor, I didn't know how the bus was now. It worked they noticed us.
cut
I looked at the white ceiling. I noticed it smells the same in the hospital. Death and despair, if not as severe.
Where was she? I wondered. The doctor who was standing next to the bed tried to calm me down, my heart was beating too fast. “Where is she?” I asked. She was silent.
She was dead and it was my fault. I don't care what they say, it's my fault, you can't judge, you weren't there. "
Excerpt from the report of a trauma victim from his therapy diary

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Yes ... Mh ...
I have no idea where that came from, it was suddenly there. I wrote it down. It's kind of weird, I think ...
In case it doesn't quite come across:
The protagonist is around ten years old, which explains some of their reactions.
He / she describes the traumatic experience, hence the strange writing style.
I have no idea about trauma and accidents, so it can seem unrealistic.
Hope there aren't too many mistakes :)