MKAY....WELLL I'VE COME TO A QUICK A DECISION ABOUT THE STORY I HAD IN MIND TO WRITE WITH SOMEONE, AND IT'S COME TO THIS....WHOEVER COMMENTS FIRST ON THIS STORY SAYING THEY'D LIEK TO CONTINUE IT WITH ME, WILL WRITE IT WITH ME, IF YOU'RE NOT FIRST BUT WANT TO WRITE WITH ME, JSUT POST A STORY IDEA, OR TELL ME...K, SO HERE'S WHAT I HAVE SO FAR
My name is Carly SaintJames, and I can't tell you why I'm still here, because I don't know why. What I do know is that I died April 27th, 2009 and that my best friend killed me. I am...was seventeen years old. I was a senior in high school, and was graduating with a scholarship to Brown University. This is all before I was killed of course.
Lena and I were sitting on the hood of her car sharing a of bottle of Vodka, talking about our futures. I remember the burn of the liquid as it slid down my throat, the way the light from the moon made everything seem so dark and mysterious. I remember an hour later I was in my room, Lena giving me a bunch of pills, telling me they'd make me relax.
I don't remember how many I took, or how fast I took them. All I know is that I took them as Lena handed them to me and I took them without questions. I remember slowly losing my steady self to the blurry one.
But that was that night and this was now. Now, I was leaning against a statue watching them bury my body. People dressed in white-the true color of death, if you weren't aware. I looked at the attendees and watched the emotions flash over their faces. I focused on the goers even more closely.
When my body was found, they'd ruled it a suicide. I know, I'd watched them do it. Lena was clear, but why would she kill me? I'd yet to find that out, but I'd find out soon.
I blinked when saw him. Sam Fletcher? Why was he here? For all I knew, he hated me. Well, maybe he didn't hate me. I guess we were kind of friends. We'd talk to each other for a while, then avoid each other like the plague for months at a time, and then talk for a while, and then avoid. I hadn't talk to him in a long time, and I was surprised he cared enough to show up.
Sam was the kind of guy that would shock you if he smiled. He wasn't quiet but he wasn't loud either. There were rumors that he was emo, but he and his best friends Paul, Jonah, and Abel made sure that people knew he wasn't. I knew he wasn't, but you know high school, someone's always cutting something.
His eyes were emotionless as they scanned the cemetery. He looked toward the direction I was in, and his eyes widened. I stood up as he stared at me. I walked to the left; his gaze followed me...to the right, his eyes followed. I gave up and walked towards him. He stared at me.
I stood in front of him, looking him over. From his messed up dirty blond hair, to his white T-shirt, to his white skinny jeans, to his black converse high tops. I made my eyes look to his hazel ones. His eyes were normally wide but this time they were bugged out.
"Sam, can you see me?" I asked. He nodded, keeping his bug eyes on me. I sighed and flipped my hair to the side. The ceremony director told everyone to take his or her seats. I looked to the front, and my eyes zeroed in on the picture on top of my white coffin.
My blond hair was around my shoulders, and my toothy, pearly white smile stood out from my kind of tan skin. My blue eyes were big and bright, and I looked happy. I looked at myself now. My bright blond hair was now pale, my blue eyes were practically white, and my skin was practically see through.
I could touch my body, my hair, everything, but others wouldn't even know I was there. Well, or so I thought, until today. I looked at Sam and bit my bottom pale pink lip. He carefully, and hesitantly, began to lift his hand. Suddenly Paul was pulling him away. Sam looked at me as he was dragged away. I turned around and watched as people came up and talked about me.