A/N: Hi all! This is going to be an explanation of this piece. To warn you,
it has nothing to do with Valdemar. This is more of a realization what
Misty with her Vanyel books helped me overcome. Every part of this is true,
except for the actual suicide, because I'm here writing this. I'm sorry to
waste space with this, but if it weren't for Misty, I would not be here
today. Oh, and all the names had been changed because I wanted to submit it
to a school magazine, but then decided not to.
Dedicated to Mimi, who helped me overcome this demon and introduced Misty to me.
1 Perceptions
It is a sunny Monday afternoon. I sit on the kitchen floor with a knife in my hand. "It's a sharp knife, I think." Nevertheless, I decide to see how sharp it is. I run my finger slowly along its edge. A ruby drop of blood appears on my thumb. It grows and finally falls on the floor. A teardrop slowly glides down my cheek and the force of gravity pulls it down to the ground. It mixes with the blood that is already there. The blood is no longer red; it is slightly pink. My vision becomes blurred. I cannot see anything anymore. More tears glide along my cheek, one following the other. I slide my finger along the blade again; more blood comes out. I do not feel the pain. The pain of a broken heart is greater than that of the bleeding finger. I watch the bleeding stop slowly. I watch them mix with my tears. I stare at the swirls and they take me back to the first thing that I remember.
The first thing that I remember. I remember waking up in my bed. I remember not understanding the big brown shape next to me; and I remember realizing that it was a teddy bear. My first stuffed animal. I remember my grandma, smiling at my surprised and pleased expression. I remember it being my third birthday.
My memory goes on. I remember my first and best friend: Kirk, who is exactly two months younger than I am. I remember walking, playing and laughing with him. I remember feeling happy. It seems so long ago.
I remember my first day of school. I felt all alone. Kirk's parents chose a different school for him. But he was the only friend I had. I thought only of him. He was my other half. I gave my name reluctantly, and only when I was asked. I remember trying to enjoy my first day of this "new life"; I remember hating it.
My parents picked me up. They were still together; they still loved each other. They had this dark blue plate; in gold, words "Until death" were engraved in it. They were both happy; they still cared for their little girl. We went for ice cream. I remember I ordered cherry-vanilla – my favorite. When I came home, I immediately called Kirk and we talked for hours. We promised to stay friends forever.
My memory jumps to … Sunday. The peaceful atmosphere of our house was shattered by the fight between my parents. My mother, tears in her eyes, was yelling at my father. My father, gesticulating madly, was yelling back at my mother. I, standing between them, was trying to get them to stop this madness, to apologize to each other. Thinking that it would help, I grabbed the blue plate of the shelf. I yelled with all the pain, all the anguish, "Remember this? What are you doing? Why are you fighting?"
Both of them stopped the fighting. I never had spoken out like that. Never in my whole life. My father calmly came up to me and took the plate carefully from my hands. Then he returned to his spot. He looked at it. He shook his head, and he released it from his hand. The plate hit the floor. It shattered into million pieces. I screamed out. My mother looked at me and said, "Go to your room. Now."
I looked at them both. I turned on my heel and left the living room, slamming each door that I passed by. I went to my room, threw myself on the bed, and cried myself to sleep. Tears. That is what I can remember for most of my life.
Suddenly I come back to today. I look at the floor; there is a lot of pinkish liquid on it. I am still bleeding, probably because I kept sliding my thumb along the blade the whole time. I glance at my watch. It is 4:45 PM. I glance at the knife; it is covered in blood, but somehow it does not bother me. The sight of blood used to make me sick every time. It does not anymore. I get up. I throw the knife into the sink and turn on the water. I wrap my injured thumb in a piece of bandage. The cut is too big to be covered just with a Band-Aid. I wash the knife. The blood comes off so easily. I take a paper towel and wipe the puddle of blood and tears with it. There is no trace of what I had done except for my injured finger. Somehow, I doubt that my parents will notice it. I look at the shelf where the plate has been. My mother had picked up all the pieces of it from the floor and she put them into a Ziploc bag. I take the Ziploc bag off the shelf.
I am in my room now. I take the bag and a tube of Krazy Glue, and tape them to a piece of paper. I write three words on it: "Figure it out!" I take the piece of paper and I tape it to the outside of my door. I slam the door shut, and turn on my music; I just put my favorite song on repeat. It is so depressing and yet hopeful at the same time. I let myself get lost in the music, hoping that the pain I fell will go away.
I hear the apartment door open and then close. My mother is home. She knocks on my door; I pretend not to hear. She opens the door and asks what is the matter with me; I simply point at the sign. She glances at it, tells me something about my misunderstanding of the situation, and then closes the door. Why am I always the one who does not understand? I am fifteen years old, and I lived with them all my life. Would I not come to understand them after all these years? I glance at my wrapped finger and smile to myself. I continue with my homework.
The apartment door opens and closes again. My father is home. I fight the urge to run and give him a hug. I tried that yesterday night. He pushed me away. I hear him approach my door. I hear his slight "pondering" sound. He always makes a sound when he thinks. I hear him walk away from my door. I know that he is in the study, and my mother is probably in her room. I open the door quietly. As I had predicted. I make a dash for the kitchen. I take a bagel, some cream cheese, and three strawberries. I run back to my safe haven. I close the door and quietly eat my dinner in solitude.
***
Tuesday afternoon. I sit on the floor and run my pointer along the blade of the same knife. Same blood runs down. I turn back to my memories.
I remember Kirk. We were never anything more than friends; I always thought that it was because our friendship was very strong. We were having a sleepover at his house. It was not all that long ago, but I cannot recall when exactly. I was lying on the bed with the blankets up to my ears. It was freezing. All the lights were off, but I could still see his hazel eyes across from me. He was looking at the floor. We have not spoken ever since I made him leave the room so that I would be able to change. He walked in and turned off the lights. Then he got into his bed, and started staring at the floor. I could not bear the silence any longer, and asked what happened. Kirk looked at me. His eyes were bottomless. I was falling down the endless hazel tunnel, which brought to the black hole of despair. I did not dare fall down that black hole, fearing that I would never return. I repeated my question; my eyes never left his. Kirk stood up and moved across the room; he sat on the corner of my bed. We were still looking into each other's eyes searchingly. He finally breaks the silence.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey," I say. His hand is on my cheek. His other hand is twirling one strand of my hair.
"Laura, whatever happens and whenever, we'll always stay friends, right?" There was a slight trace of sadness in his voice.
"Kirk, oh dear God, of course we'll stay friends. I thought we talked about this a long time ago. Why do you doubt our vow?"
"It's because I feel that as we are growing, we are growing apart. I don't want to lose you. Laura, you are my friend; I am afraid to lose you. Afraid, selfishly, only for myself."
I take his hand off my cheek and hold it with both of my own. "Kirk, you will never lose me. Even if you try to."
He smiles. I feel the tension in his body relax. I look into his eyes. They are full of hope. Despair is gone. Love and friendship are back.
We talked for the whole night.
I drop the knife into the puddle of blood. I bandage my finger quickly; I wipe the blood from the floor with a white paper towel. I quickly rinse the knife. And only then, when all the proofs of what I was doing are gone, I sprint to my room and pick up the telephone. I dial Kirk's phone number. His mother picks up. "Hi, may I speak to Kirk?"
"One second…"
I hear her call Kirk, and he picks up the phone. "Hello?" he says in his deep silky voice.
"Kirk, I have to talk to you. And this is not a phone conversation," I blurt out.
"Laura? What is it? What's wrong?" his voice is trembling.
"Kirk, please. Can I come over? I really need to," my voice breaks. I know that if I continue speaking, I will start to cry. I try to get myself under control. I cannot. I cannot control anything anymore. I am already dead. This is not I, talking to Kirk. It is somebody else. I do not know who or what, but it is not I. I would never lose control. I never yet did.
"Oh, gods! Laura, are you okay? Come over as soon as you can. Are your parents there? Leave them a note! Come over right away! Just don't do anything stupid, okay?" I can feel that he is anxious. I don't know what I should do. My arm slowly but surely hangs up on Kirk. My mind and soul scream. I order my feet to go to my room, but they take me to the kitchen. I order my hands to stop, but they take the knife. My mind and soul are in agony. I order my body to stop, but it takes the knife and slowly, but surely runs it across the left wrist. My mind is not yet giving up. It orders my hands to stop and drop the knife. It succeeds for a second. My hands stop moving. But to my horror, a moment later, the left hand takes the knife and cuts my right wrist. My mind screams. There is a pool of blood on the floor. My mind tries once again to stop my hands, but it is too late. My mind is weak. The blood that supplied life to my body and my mind is pouring from my mutilated wrists. My legs give way. I collapse into the blood. My mind is slowly dying; yet my soul feels relieved. I slowly slip into darkness. Just before, I remember a glimpse of my childhood: Kirk and I, my parents and his parents, on a roller coaster ride. Then I am swallowed by the darkness forever.
***
I come home from work. I want to talk to Laura. I call her name. Nobody answers. I look into her room, yet she is not there. I decide that she might have left, and I direct my steps into the kitchen. I open the kitchen door, and freeze. Laura lies there in a pool of her blood. My body convulses in an uncontrolled motion. I turn her over. I rip some fabric off my shirt and tie them above the gashes. But, oh Laura, she is so cold. She is dying. I run to the phone and dial 911. I tell them the address. Then I go back into the kitchen. I wrap my body around Laura's, hoping that my love and warmth will keep her in this world. The ambulance arrives. The doctor makes her way to Laura. I step aside. She looks at Laura, and orders her to be taken to the hospital. Two nurses come and put her in the truck. I ask if there is any hope left. The doctor says that there is almost no human way to make Laura come back to life. I beg her to do anything she can to save my daughter. My only daughter. My only love. The doctor just nods, and the truck moves off. We get quickly to the hospital. They take Laura to the emergency room. I was told to wait in the emergency room. I call my husband, and then I start pacing the white hallway.
***
I hear Laura's phone drop. "Laura!" I call. No answer. I call again, hoping that my intuition is wrong. Silence again. I drop the receiver and sprint out of my room and out the door, yelling to my mom that something horrible is about to happen to Laura, and I got to save her. She yells, "Kirk, be careful!" I'm out of the door, sprinting down the stairs, not caring if I fall and break my leg. I catch a cab, and tell them Laura's address. Please be alive! Please, please, Laura, don't kill me!
***
My wife calls. She tells me through her tears what Laura's done. My first reaction is total unbelief. Laura was always a balanced child; she would never do such a thing. Unless, our fight made her mentally unbalanced. Or was it something else? I don't care, what it was, but I wish that she survives. She has to. If she doesn't… no, there'll be no such thing. She'll live. I start the car, and rush to the hospital.
When I arrive, I see Emily pacing the hallway. I run to her and hug her. I missed her so much. We shouldn't have fought, that's obvious. I make a vow to myself to never fight again.
***
I don't know how to say it. I've been a doctor for ten years, and I still cannot deal with death. Especially in this case. The girl was so young. As I come out of the room, her parents turn to me with faint hope in their eyes. My words fail me. I simply shake my head. As I see the mother break down and the father, weeping, trying to comfort her, my heart aches. I turn my eyes away from them. I can't bear to see their pain.
***
I reach Laura's apartment. I knock on the door; no answer. Just the same haunted silence. I try the door; it's open. I enter. Nobody is home. I go to Laura's room. Somehow, it feels empty. I see Laura's favorite stuffed animal, a moose, on her bed. I take it and hug it, trying to inhale her scent. I remember trying to stop myself from falling in love with her; I remember failing. "I love Laura," I say to myself. I love her. I decide to wait, but I'm thirsty. I go into the kitchen, and my heart stops beating. The floor is covered in blood. Bright red blood… I remember falling backwards, away from the blood, trying to forget the frightening sight.
***
I come home with Dan. They made us leave the hospital after filling out paperwork. That's all we are to the government: a bunch of papers. This truth made me sick. Dan helped me to the car. He drove with tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat. How well I know him! How much I love him! And Laura… I start to cry. She was so young…
When we are home, I see Kirk lying on the floor with his arm around Moosey. I revive him. He looks at me with the hope, and I, like the doctor, shake my head. He breaks down crying on my shoulders. I try to comfort him, but I just start crying all over again. I don't feel Laura in my heart anymore; I just feel a coldness and a void. Dan comes up to me and I feel his arms on my shoulders, his tears in my hair. I don't know how long we stayed like this, but by the time we stopped crying, it was too late to let Kirk go home. He wanted to sleep in Laura's room. I let him. He took his usual bed, across from Laura's, and as we went to sleep, we heard him talking to the empty bed.
***
Time passed. They buried a young girl near me. I saw the mother cry; I saw the father break down and cry out to the heavens; I saw a boy stand near the grave muttering something I couldn't hear. In a week, the parents came back with a blue plate. They told her that they glued it and that everything was fine between them. They urged her to come back, already knowing that it will never happen. Then they put the plate on top of the mound of earth. They went away. A boy came back. He sat on me and confessed his love for her. He cried. He then kissed the earth and went away. I can keep their secrets. I am a graveyard bench, after all.
A/N: Please do review. I would appreciate any criticism, but no flames. And please, if you are going to critique my piece, try not to be condescending. Thank you!
~Lania
Dedicated to Mimi, who helped me overcome this demon and introduced Misty to me.
1 Perceptions
It is a sunny Monday afternoon. I sit on the kitchen floor with a knife in my hand. "It's a sharp knife, I think." Nevertheless, I decide to see how sharp it is. I run my finger slowly along its edge. A ruby drop of blood appears on my thumb. It grows and finally falls on the floor. A teardrop slowly glides down my cheek and the force of gravity pulls it down to the ground. It mixes with the blood that is already there. The blood is no longer red; it is slightly pink. My vision becomes blurred. I cannot see anything anymore. More tears glide along my cheek, one following the other. I slide my finger along the blade again; more blood comes out. I do not feel the pain. The pain of a broken heart is greater than that of the bleeding finger. I watch the bleeding stop slowly. I watch them mix with my tears. I stare at the swirls and they take me back to the first thing that I remember.
The first thing that I remember. I remember waking up in my bed. I remember not understanding the big brown shape next to me; and I remember realizing that it was a teddy bear. My first stuffed animal. I remember my grandma, smiling at my surprised and pleased expression. I remember it being my third birthday.
My memory goes on. I remember my first and best friend: Kirk, who is exactly two months younger than I am. I remember walking, playing and laughing with him. I remember feeling happy. It seems so long ago.
I remember my first day of school. I felt all alone. Kirk's parents chose a different school for him. But he was the only friend I had. I thought only of him. He was my other half. I gave my name reluctantly, and only when I was asked. I remember trying to enjoy my first day of this "new life"; I remember hating it.
My parents picked me up. They were still together; they still loved each other. They had this dark blue plate; in gold, words "Until death" were engraved in it. They were both happy; they still cared for their little girl. We went for ice cream. I remember I ordered cherry-vanilla – my favorite. When I came home, I immediately called Kirk and we talked for hours. We promised to stay friends forever.
My memory jumps to … Sunday. The peaceful atmosphere of our house was shattered by the fight between my parents. My mother, tears in her eyes, was yelling at my father. My father, gesticulating madly, was yelling back at my mother. I, standing between them, was trying to get them to stop this madness, to apologize to each other. Thinking that it would help, I grabbed the blue plate of the shelf. I yelled with all the pain, all the anguish, "Remember this? What are you doing? Why are you fighting?"
Both of them stopped the fighting. I never had spoken out like that. Never in my whole life. My father calmly came up to me and took the plate carefully from my hands. Then he returned to his spot. He looked at it. He shook his head, and he released it from his hand. The plate hit the floor. It shattered into million pieces. I screamed out. My mother looked at me and said, "Go to your room. Now."
I looked at them both. I turned on my heel and left the living room, slamming each door that I passed by. I went to my room, threw myself on the bed, and cried myself to sleep. Tears. That is what I can remember for most of my life.
Suddenly I come back to today. I look at the floor; there is a lot of pinkish liquid on it. I am still bleeding, probably because I kept sliding my thumb along the blade the whole time. I glance at my watch. It is 4:45 PM. I glance at the knife; it is covered in blood, but somehow it does not bother me. The sight of blood used to make me sick every time. It does not anymore. I get up. I throw the knife into the sink and turn on the water. I wrap my injured thumb in a piece of bandage. The cut is too big to be covered just with a Band-Aid. I wash the knife. The blood comes off so easily. I take a paper towel and wipe the puddle of blood and tears with it. There is no trace of what I had done except for my injured finger. Somehow, I doubt that my parents will notice it. I look at the shelf where the plate has been. My mother had picked up all the pieces of it from the floor and she put them into a Ziploc bag. I take the Ziploc bag off the shelf.
I am in my room now. I take the bag and a tube of Krazy Glue, and tape them to a piece of paper. I write three words on it: "Figure it out!" I take the piece of paper and I tape it to the outside of my door. I slam the door shut, and turn on my music; I just put my favorite song on repeat. It is so depressing and yet hopeful at the same time. I let myself get lost in the music, hoping that the pain I fell will go away.
I hear the apartment door open and then close. My mother is home. She knocks on my door; I pretend not to hear. She opens the door and asks what is the matter with me; I simply point at the sign. She glances at it, tells me something about my misunderstanding of the situation, and then closes the door. Why am I always the one who does not understand? I am fifteen years old, and I lived with them all my life. Would I not come to understand them after all these years? I glance at my wrapped finger and smile to myself. I continue with my homework.
The apartment door opens and closes again. My father is home. I fight the urge to run and give him a hug. I tried that yesterday night. He pushed me away. I hear him approach my door. I hear his slight "pondering" sound. He always makes a sound when he thinks. I hear him walk away from my door. I know that he is in the study, and my mother is probably in her room. I open the door quietly. As I had predicted. I make a dash for the kitchen. I take a bagel, some cream cheese, and three strawberries. I run back to my safe haven. I close the door and quietly eat my dinner in solitude.
***
Tuesday afternoon. I sit on the floor and run my pointer along the blade of the same knife. Same blood runs down. I turn back to my memories.
I remember Kirk. We were never anything more than friends; I always thought that it was because our friendship was very strong. We were having a sleepover at his house. It was not all that long ago, but I cannot recall when exactly. I was lying on the bed with the blankets up to my ears. It was freezing. All the lights were off, but I could still see his hazel eyes across from me. He was looking at the floor. We have not spoken ever since I made him leave the room so that I would be able to change. He walked in and turned off the lights. Then he got into his bed, and started staring at the floor. I could not bear the silence any longer, and asked what happened. Kirk looked at me. His eyes were bottomless. I was falling down the endless hazel tunnel, which brought to the black hole of despair. I did not dare fall down that black hole, fearing that I would never return. I repeated my question; my eyes never left his. Kirk stood up and moved across the room; he sat on the corner of my bed. We were still looking into each other's eyes searchingly. He finally breaks the silence.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey," I say. His hand is on my cheek. His other hand is twirling one strand of my hair.
"Laura, whatever happens and whenever, we'll always stay friends, right?" There was a slight trace of sadness in his voice.
"Kirk, oh dear God, of course we'll stay friends. I thought we talked about this a long time ago. Why do you doubt our vow?"
"It's because I feel that as we are growing, we are growing apart. I don't want to lose you. Laura, you are my friend; I am afraid to lose you. Afraid, selfishly, only for myself."
I take his hand off my cheek and hold it with both of my own. "Kirk, you will never lose me. Even if you try to."
He smiles. I feel the tension in his body relax. I look into his eyes. They are full of hope. Despair is gone. Love and friendship are back.
We talked for the whole night.
I drop the knife into the puddle of blood. I bandage my finger quickly; I wipe the blood from the floor with a white paper towel. I quickly rinse the knife. And only then, when all the proofs of what I was doing are gone, I sprint to my room and pick up the telephone. I dial Kirk's phone number. His mother picks up. "Hi, may I speak to Kirk?"
"One second…"
I hear her call Kirk, and he picks up the phone. "Hello?" he says in his deep silky voice.
"Kirk, I have to talk to you. And this is not a phone conversation," I blurt out.
"Laura? What is it? What's wrong?" his voice is trembling.
"Kirk, please. Can I come over? I really need to," my voice breaks. I know that if I continue speaking, I will start to cry. I try to get myself under control. I cannot. I cannot control anything anymore. I am already dead. This is not I, talking to Kirk. It is somebody else. I do not know who or what, but it is not I. I would never lose control. I never yet did.
"Oh, gods! Laura, are you okay? Come over as soon as you can. Are your parents there? Leave them a note! Come over right away! Just don't do anything stupid, okay?" I can feel that he is anxious. I don't know what I should do. My arm slowly but surely hangs up on Kirk. My mind and soul scream. I order my feet to go to my room, but they take me to the kitchen. I order my hands to stop, but they take the knife. My mind and soul are in agony. I order my body to stop, but it takes the knife and slowly, but surely runs it across the left wrist. My mind is not yet giving up. It orders my hands to stop and drop the knife. It succeeds for a second. My hands stop moving. But to my horror, a moment later, the left hand takes the knife and cuts my right wrist. My mind screams. There is a pool of blood on the floor. My mind tries once again to stop my hands, but it is too late. My mind is weak. The blood that supplied life to my body and my mind is pouring from my mutilated wrists. My legs give way. I collapse into the blood. My mind is slowly dying; yet my soul feels relieved. I slowly slip into darkness. Just before, I remember a glimpse of my childhood: Kirk and I, my parents and his parents, on a roller coaster ride. Then I am swallowed by the darkness forever.
***
I come home from work. I want to talk to Laura. I call her name. Nobody answers. I look into her room, yet she is not there. I decide that she might have left, and I direct my steps into the kitchen. I open the kitchen door, and freeze. Laura lies there in a pool of her blood. My body convulses in an uncontrolled motion. I turn her over. I rip some fabric off my shirt and tie them above the gashes. But, oh Laura, she is so cold. She is dying. I run to the phone and dial 911. I tell them the address. Then I go back into the kitchen. I wrap my body around Laura's, hoping that my love and warmth will keep her in this world. The ambulance arrives. The doctor makes her way to Laura. I step aside. She looks at Laura, and orders her to be taken to the hospital. Two nurses come and put her in the truck. I ask if there is any hope left. The doctor says that there is almost no human way to make Laura come back to life. I beg her to do anything she can to save my daughter. My only daughter. My only love. The doctor just nods, and the truck moves off. We get quickly to the hospital. They take Laura to the emergency room. I was told to wait in the emergency room. I call my husband, and then I start pacing the white hallway.
***
I hear Laura's phone drop. "Laura!" I call. No answer. I call again, hoping that my intuition is wrong. Silence again. I drop the receiver and sprint out of my room and out the door, yelling to my mom that something horrible is about to happen to Laura, and I got to save her. She yells, "Kirk, be careful!" I'm out of the door, sprinting down the stairs, not caring if I fall and break my leg. I catch a cab, and tell them Laura's address. Please be alive! Please, please, Laura, don't kill me!
***
My wife calls. She tells me through her tears what Laura's done. My first reaction is total unbelief. Laura was always a balanced child; she would never do such a thing. Unless, our fight made her mentally unbalanced. Or was it something else? I don't care, what it was, but I wish that she survives. She has to. If she doesn't… no, there'll be no such thing. She'll live. I start the car, and rush to the hospital.
When I arrive, I see Emily pacing the hallway. I run to her and hug her. I missed her so much. We shouldn't have fought, that's obvious. I make a vow to myself to never fight again.
***
I don't know how to say it. I've been a doctor for ten years, and I still cannot deal with death. Especially in this case. The girl was so young. As I come out of the room, her parents turn to me with faint hope in their eyes. My words fail me. I simply shake my head. As I see the mother break down and the father, weeping, trying to comfort her, my heart aches. I turn my eyes away from them. I can't bear to see their pain.
***
I reach Laura's apartment. I knock on the door; no answer. Just the same haunted silence. I try the door; it's open. I enter. Nobody is home. I go to Laura's room. Somehow, it feels empty. I see Laura's favorite stuffed animal, a moose, on her bed. I take it and hug it, trying to inhale her scent. I remember trying to stop myself from falling in love with her; I remember failing. "I love Laura," I say to myself. I love her. I decide to wait, but I'm thirsty. I go into the kitchen, and my heart stops beating. The floor is covered in blood. Bright red blood… I remember falling backwards, away from the blood, trying to forget the frightening sight.
***
I come home with Dan. They made us leave the hospital after filling out paperwork. That's all we are to the government: a bunch of papers. This truth made me sick. Dan helped me to the car. He drove with tears in his eyes and a lump in his throat. How well I know him! How much I love him! And Laura… I start to cry. She was so young…
When we are home, I see Kirk lying on the floor with his arm around Moosey. I revive him. He looks at me with the hope, and I, like the doctor, shake my head. He breaks down crying on my shoulders. I try to comfort him, but I just start crying all over again. I don't feel Laura in my heart anymore; I just feel a coldness and a void. Dan comes up to me and I feel his arms on my shoulders, his tears in my hair. I don't know how long we stayed like this, but by the time we stopped crying, it was too late to let Kirk go home. He wanted to sleep in Laura's room. I let him. He took his usual bed, across from Laura's, and as we went to sleep, we heard him talking to the empty bed.
***
Time passed. They buried a young girl near me. I saw the mother cry; I saw the father break down and cry out to the heavens; I saw a boy stand near the grave muttering something I couldn't hear. In a week, the parents came back with a blue plate. They told her that they glued it and that everything was fine between them. They urged her to come back, already knowing that it will never happen. Then they put the plate on top of the mound of earth. They went away. A boy came back. He sat on me and confessed his love for her. He cried. He then kissed the earth and went away. I can keep their secrets. I am a graveyard bench, after all.
A/N: Please do review. I would appreciate any criticism, but no flames. And please, if you are going to critique my piece, try not to be condescending. Thank you!
~Lania