Disoriented

Once upon a time.. wait.. no, that’s how fairytales start off. This is definitely not a “fairytale”. It doesn’t end with cupcakes or rainbows. Hell, it doesn’t even end with happiness, it ends with a hard goodbye, a reality that no one wanted to be apart of, a reality that I didn’t see coming when I blew up on my best friend for the first, and last time. Now this is confusing, is it not? I will admit that this story won’t be simple, not simple to tell, not simple to piece together, and definitely not simple to understand, but given the person that she was, her style of expressing herself, this way, is how she would want her story told. She was too young to understand her own feelings, she had complicated ones, of course, like every 15-year-old teenager. She was beautiful; blazing red hair, always smiling brighter than the sun, she was a fan of words, she loved reading and writing books as well as poetry, yet nobody liked her at school. She was bullied, even with the realest looking smile; and yet it was still the fakest. You might be asking; “Kate, why do you keep using the past tense when talking about "her ", this mystery girl that you’re all upset about, what happened to her?” Well, she’s gone, and it was my fault. I hadn’t done enough that day. I took it out on “her”, and she has a name, but it would pain me to write the name down on this paper. Her name is almost as beautiful as hers, almost as lovely, and almost as far away. Now at this time I’d like you to listen closely. If this were in audio I’d be whispering, very quietly into your ear, hoping to be heard by anyone who would listen, Just like she did; don’t be scared, I’m not with you, I’m merely words on paper at this point, by the end of this, I’ll be gone as well. My mom said that she was worried about me. I haven’t gone to school, or come out of my room since she did what she did. I tried to forget about it, with puzzles; she loved puzzles, in terms of word puzzles. She hated math, “was just never good at it” she would say while looking down. You could tell whenever she was looking down, her voice would drop lower and she’d have a barely noticeable hint of sadness in her voice; I wish I would’ve noticed that the sadness in her voice was a person holding on for dear life, barely able to hold on, trying not to let go for the few people that cared about her; and I’d hold her hand and tell her it was alright, we always cared about each other.