August Fourteen, doctor and police were screaming I could only see red, then black. She was dead.
I didn't understand and I never have. Why did god take these amazing people from us?
She was laughing. She was laughing when that bastard ran over her. He didn't even stop, he just ran over her like she was speed bump.
She died because of a car and I can't help but think that that has to be the most mundane way she could have possibly died. She was a hero, she was supposed die in battle, in the most glorious possible way, or never die at all, not like this.
I loved her, he loved her too. She left him to, forever, what did he do to deserve that. The heartbreak led him to commit suicide the next day. I can't forgive her for this, I blame her, but I know it wasn't her fault.
Mom and dad cried for days and days and days and days. They feel into depression but tried to be strong for us, it didn't work. Every year on her birthday they cry, every year on the anniversary of her death they cry. They lock themselves in their room and cry.
On my sixteenth birthday, they cried for hours straight but it wasn't for me. It was for her.
On my driver's test, they again cried for hours. They would sob because she didn't live long enough to be able to take the test. They whispered about how young she was and I hated her.
On my graduation, I had a sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe they would cry for me. They didn't, they never do. They cried of course but for her and I hated her more.
On my college graduation, I introduced them to my boyfriend. During they smiled and laughed with everyone else but inside they were tearing apart. Afterwards, they cried for her and her boyfriend. They were the true romance story. Anyone could see it, the way they looked at each other, the way they talked, the way they acted. They were in love and one would be able to break them apart, except for death.
Finally my wedding, I was certain they would cry for me. I wanted they to, I wanted them to show that they cared enough for me to cry, to feel sad of my leaving. An hour before, they were holding a picture. It was of her, her boyfriend's arms were wrapped around her. They looked so happy but my parent's tears stained the photo. "I should have given him a chance; I should have given him a chance", my father choked out between his sobs. I shut the door with tears in my eyes but not for her.
After the reception, they were weeping once again. But I wasn't fooled, never, it wasn't for me, it never was. I climbed in the car as they waved. My mom was holding a photo… of her. I hated her so, so, so much.
They were on their death bed. They were dying, they were going, leaving me. They each whispered," I am sorry". I bit my tongue to stop from saying they should be. The heart monitor stopped beeping and I starting weeping and sobbing and screaming. For them and for her. I never hated her, never. I was jealous but now I understand, the pain, and slash through your heart and the bleeding out. I could feel standing over me, smiling, and her comforting hand resting on my shoulder. I looked at her and maybe I was smiling, I don't know.
"Sabrina."