A girl killed herself last week. We were in the same class and the same grade. Juniors. I didn't know her well. She wore nice clothes, I know, and her hair always looked gorgeous. No reason to kill herself.
She had freckles and red hair. Her lips curled at the edges so that she was always smirking. Like she was perpetually thinking something clever. 5'4" maybe 120 pounds.
She wore Bob Marley shirts underneath a colorful array of Volcom, BillaBong, and Hurley jackets. She got $300 every month from the State. Something about her father dying. Was that her reason to kill herself?
She was dangerous. She was everything you wanted to be and everything you were afraid to become. Reeled you in, then threw you back, annoyed. She was what your mother shielded your eyes from.
She smoked everything you can imagine, flung the ashes at Authority's disapproving mug. She always had something smart to say to the teachers, well, usually. When she didn't, she muttered profanities under her breath. She made us laugh. I didn't know her well.
She had a girlfriend. She was dark and with curly black hair, very tall and skinny. Much taller than most girls. She reminded me of golden bamboo, gift of an emerald jungle. Those two used to hold hands up and down halls, giggling.
She hung herself.
Seventeen years old, popular, cool clothes, cool friends, a life I could almost envy, or could I? I didn't know her well, but I can't fathom the reasons she listed as she killed herself.
Is death the end of the page or end of the book?
She had freckles and red hair. Her lips curled at the edges so that she was always smirking. Like she was perpetually thinking something clever. 5'4" maybe 120 pounds.
She wore Bob Marley shirts underneath a colorful array of Volcom, BillaBong, and Hurley jackets. She got $300 every month from the State. Something about her father dying. Was that her reason to kill herself?
She was dangerous. She was everything you wanted to be and everything you were afraid to become. Reeled you in, then threw you back, annoyed. She was what your mother shielded your eyes from.
She smoked everything you can imagine, flung the ashes at Authority's disapproving mug. She always had something smart to say to the teachers, well, usually. When she didn't, she muttered profanities under her breath. She made us laugh. I didn't know her well.
She had a girlfriend. She was dark and with curly black hair, very tall and skinny. Much taller than most girls. She reminded me of golden bamboo, gift of an emerald jungle. Those two used to hold hands up and down halls, giggling.
She hung herself.
Seventeen years old, popular, cool clothes, cool friends, a life I could almost envy, or could I? I didn't know her well, but I can't fathom the reasons she listed as she killed herself.
Is death the end of the page or end of the book?
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