No One Will Care What Happens to Me
Finite
"She was our best friend. She was my only true friend. She was like a sister to me. I can't believe this has happened."
The lies, so untrue, so fake- so like the ones who spoke them. Flowing carelessly, expertly, upon the breaths that expelled the false statements. Floating loosely between ear and mouth.
No one knew her like I did. No one knew why her hair covered her face ninety-nine percent of the time. No one knew why she never let anyone in. No one knew her hidden past. I did.
Her black hair. Her pale grey eyes. Her beautiful, full, red lips. Her slim, stunning figure. Her slender fingers as they flew over the keys gracefully. Her amazing voice fluctuating to each note. Her invisible tears. Her veiled scars. Her venomous hate, passionate love.
I slid farther away from the counselor as I remembered. Remembered her vivacious personality, rarely shown, captivating when revealed. Remembered how freely she let her words be spoken, but only to me were they uttered.
"Would you like to say something now?"
Jerked from my reverie. Cursing the counselor. Hating how it went. Needing her more than ever. She could have, would have, made it all perfect again.
"No."
Slouching in my seat, I avoided the gazes sent my way. Third day of group therapy. It was a week-long event, until Friday. I could not wait.
"May I say something?" I asked, interrupting the girl spewing more lies, monstrosities. "None of you knew her like I did. So quit lying. Quit telling everyone else how you and she were such buddies. You looked down on her. You spat at her. You shoved her away. You never gained the courage to give her a chance, to get to know her. Who she really was, what really went on in her life. What she really thought, felt, saw. You never once had the chance to listen to her play piano, to hear her sing. You wasted her talents. You wasted her life. You ripped her dreams to shreds. So shut up about her. You're not good enough to even think her name. You're all dead to me."there is no hope, no savior in me
__________________________________________
Teenage suicide shocks city, school
Two suicides within one week turns a Huntington Beach school upside down.
James Sullivan, 18, a senior, shot himself last Friday during the last session of group therapy the school was holding for the self-murder of another twelfth-grade student the Friday previous.
One source says that Sullivan "ranted how none of the students knew [the other suicide victim], and how it was pretty much our fault she killed herself." Another tells how the distraught boy "was in his own world the whole week. No one really thought much of it because, well, she was his girlfriend. Her death tore him up. Of course he was going to be mourning her memory." A final group of insiders, Sullivan's friends, are reluctant to comment, but they finally say:
"May he find eternal rest."
The lies, so untrue, so fake- so like the ones who spoke them. Flowing carelessly, expertly, upon the breaths that expelled the false statements. Floating loosely between ear and mouth.
No one knew her like I did. No one knew why her hair covered her face ninety-nine percent of the time. No one knew why she never let anyone in. No one knew her hidden past. I did.
Her black hair. Her pale grey eyes. Her beautiful, full, red lips. Her slim, stunning figure. Her slender fingers as they flew over the keys gracefully. Her amazing voice fluctuating to each note. Her invisible tears. Her veiled scars. Her venomous hate, passionate love.
I slid farther away from the counselor as I remembered. Remembered her vivacious personality, rarely shown, captivating when revealed. Remembered how freely she let her words be spoken, but only to me were they uttered.
"Would you like to say something now?"
Jerked from my reverie. Cursing the counselor. Hating how it went. Needing her more than ever. She could have, would have, made it all perfect again.
"No."
Slouching in my seat, I avoided the gazes sent my way. Third day of group therapy. It was a week-long event, until Friday. I could not wait.
"May I say something?" I asked, interrupting the girl spewing more lies, monstrosities. "None of you knew her like I did. So quit lying. Quit telling everyone else how you and she were such buddies. You looked down on her. You spat at her. You shoved her away. You never gained the courage to give her a chance, to get to know her. Who she really was, what really went on in her life. What she really thought, felt, saw. You never once had the chance to listen to her play piano, to hear her sing. You wasted her talents. You wasted her life. You ripped her dreams to shreds. So shut up about her. You're not good enough to even think her name. You're all dead to me."there is no hope, no savior in me
__________________________________________
Teenage suicide shocks city, school
Two suicides within one week turns a Huntington Beach school upside down.
James Sullivan, 18, a senior, shot himself last Friday during the last session of group therapy the school was holding for the self-murder of another twelfth-grade student the Friday previous.
One source says that Sullivan "ranted how none of the students knew [the other suicide victim], and how it was pretty much our fault she killed herself." Another tells how the distraught boy "was in his own world the whole week. No one really thought much of it because, well, she was his girlfriend. Her death tore him up. Of course he was going to be mourning her memory." A final group of insiders, Sullivan's friends, are reluctant to comment, but they finally say:
"May he find eternal rest."
3/9/13