Dont Go
She was different. If you saw the Chipettes, most saw the beauty, Brittany, or the sport, Eleanor. She was last to catch your eye. Tall, skinny figure. Messily pulled back brown hair, glasses crooked. And her eyes. They were green, but if you looked deeper, there was more. Sweetness, wisdom, determination. All in those glittering green eyes. But most people just saw eyes. She had an amazing voice, but was drowned out by her sisters. And now the spotlight would never shine on her.
She was smart, what some call, "geek." But she had power in wisdom. Her abilities were endless. People would tease her, call her names or even go as far as to punch her. It rolled right off her back. Her physiology usage made it possible for her to ignore.
Her clothes were never stylish. In fact, she wore the same blue sweater and purple skirt everyday. Her hair was always pulled back into a bun, and tied with her lucky purple ribbon.
She was incredibly clumsy. Awkward, stumbling, klutzy. I was always there to catch her, it was like a daily routine. Now, I would never catch her again.
I loved her. She loved me. We crushed on each other silently. We liked it that way. If only I had said, "I love you."
If only I had seen more. The weakness in her eyes, her stress level sky rocketing. Falling asleep in class. I didn't know why. Things only got worse. On October 22nd at 2:15, the phone rang. Picking it up, I heard Eleanor's voice, panicked and choking with tears. "Simon! Jeanette is dead!" I dropped the phone, and ran to the Miller's house.
Please let this be a dream, I thought. But opening the door, I saw them crying. Miss Miller cradled her daughter's body. They said they had found her at her favorite spot in the house. She wasn't breathing, she wasn't sleeping. But a book was clutched to her still chest. It was a photo album. Not just any album, the album filled with pictures of us.
I sit, clutching the photo album. Pictures of us, little kids, laughing. If only we could go back to that. I sit in this graveyard, visiting my dear Jeanette. I haven't married, for I will never meet another like her. My love, my life.
My Jeanette.
Written by uh Wendy? Yes, that's it! Yes, I think she's well on her way to being a great writer but yes i dont own this story I just posted it!