Never the Same
"How could this happen?" I repeated over and over. This is impossible. It's only
a dream. But as I looked at the dead body of my best friend, I couldn't convince myself otherwise. Next to my friend, was Eriol, her Romeo, her love, her darling, her dearest, her sweetheart who was quietly mourning. I was weeping and sobbing, out loud. How could this happen? In the back of my head, someone was laughing and grinning, taunting me. Did you think love lasted forever? it asked. Well you're wrong. And there's proof right in front of your eyes. Did you believe that these lovers could be together for eternity? Well you're wrong again. Fate is cruel. You know it. And your best friend's dead. And what are you doing about it? Sitting and weeping? You're pathetic. Pathetic! Love fades. Lives end. Everything must come to an end. You know it; and you were an idiot not to know that. One day, you'll die as well. It was just fate that decided that her life would end before yours.
After listening to these accusations from the "hidden" side of me I laughed bitterly. That's right, I thought. I'm an idiot. And, looking down at my friend, I concentrated on making my heart cold, so that it would never be broken or harmed again because instead of a warm, pulsing heart that could get stabbed so simply, and easily, there would be a cold rock in my body. I will never trust again, I sweared. I assured myself that my best friend who died in a miserable car crash had taught me something, and that was to be a strong, separate individual. I would not lean on others, I would not count or believe in them and I would never cry. Never, I screamed.
3 months later
I looked over the tombstone of Tomoyo, my dear companion and comrade. I quietly set some violets on the grave, because violet was her favorite color and flower, and because it was the color of her long flowing hair and beautiful, soft, caring eyes. I turned around so I would forget the memory of her. I shook my head and willed the picture of her out of my mind. It evaporated and I concentrated on getting to French class. However, when I got to class, there was an elegant girl who was smiling softly in the front of the room. I had never seen her before.
Her name was Erica. She had the most striking pale, white, heart-shaped face surrounded by waves of dark black silky hair. However, her eyes were a dark, bluish green that you could get lost in if you looked far enough. Right then she was attained in a lovely cloud dress of creamy, white satin and silk. She also wore long white silk gloves that were slightly pink. Around her neck was a long string of milky pearls and she had on a pale pink lip-gloss that showed her blossoming, red rose petals. She had the longest eyelashes that fluttered as she blinked. On her feet were white ballet satin shoes and her dress showed her slim stomach and her stylish figure.
She stood with an air of authority and when she smiled, her beautiful eyes also seemed to sparkle and shimmer. No one in the room could take their eyes off her and each person studied her looks and outfit as if she were a specimen. They were all entranced. I on the other hand was not entranced by her beauty but by the fact that she looked like my deceased friend. "Tomoyo…" I whispered softly.
After French, I vowed not to set eyes on that girl, Erica, again. It would only make me remember past memories that I had tried to forget yet failed.
However, the next day, that girl, the very image of Tomoyo was sitting in front of me. I turned my pained eyes away from the black hair cascading down her face, in small curly ringlets. I quickly glanced at her outfit and found she had a stunning outfit on. Tomoyo had always known the latest fashion before she died, and had always been one of the most well dressed girls in the school. Her clothes making skills were not matched with anyone in the entire high school, and her clothes were more beautiful than that of the seniors. Tomoyo and I had always had the most fun when we were together, and Tomoyo had designed the best outfits. Then I quickly remembered that I had thrown all the clothes that Tomoyo had made for her away, trying to forget her past. Now, I started to wish that I hadn't thrown them out, so I could still have a glimpse of Tomoyo.
Today Erica was wearing a polka dotted shirt, made of satin. The fabric almost seemed to cling onto her skin, and hugged her small, petite stomach. She had a black skirt that reached her knees, and for substitute for the belt, she had a shimmering silver cloth around her stomach. She had lace stockings and high black heels, allowing Erica to look formal, yet comfortable, as well as elegant. Lastly she had a thick silver headband in her black curls.
After that, I was pulled back into the past reminiscences. I remembered the exquisite black, short-sleeved dress made of satin that Tomoyo made for me, and I remembered how happy I had been when Tomoyo, when she, with her melodic, soothing voice, had said, "Sakura, I made this for you. Do you like it?" I had instead given Tomoyo a BIG hug and had started to admire the dress, touching the fabric, and pulling down the black satin trims on the hem and sleeves. I had tried on the entire ensemble and had found Tomoyo and even made a black velvet purse to go along with it, and a pair of black heels. Suddenly, I ran out the room to the bathroom, where I carefully wiped my tears away with my fingernails. I wondered if things were so wonderful then, why all of that had equaled to this disaster I was living in.