30 Hours

30 Hours Part 3

Final Chapter here we go! Thanks for coming along for the ride! Also, it's a pretty sad and confusing chapter. Don't cry, and don't be mad.

I sat up.

'Mad Hatter?' I was able to croak out.

He came closer to me. His features disappearing and changing into something different. He was wearing the traditional 'Mad Hatter' clothes, but as he peered closer, he was wearing a grey shirt, and black pants. He was nothing I had imagined to be.
His eyes were dark brown. His hair, striking up, dark brown. He was tall, and if I didn't like Oliver, I think I would've fallen for him.
Don't say that.

'Hello Emily.' He towered over me, looking down at me. I could easily get lost in the dark eyes.

'Mad-'

'No, that's not me. Anymore. I'm...just call me, Lawrence.'

I nodded. He sighed and sat down need to me on the dying grass. I noticed he had scars on his face. 'What happened to your face?' I felt better. What on earth?

'Um, when I died.' He coughed slightly and I decided to drop the subject.

'So, today's the day?' I nodded. I felt weird. I didn't-
Have a formal goodbye to anyone. No one. Everyone just let me go. Is this what it's like? Dying? No one cares until you're gone.
Is it really like that Marilyn?
They probably don't care right now. They'll remember me as the difficult girl.

'Yep.' I wrapped my arms around my knee and stared into the lake.

'Well we should make a move on, shouldn't we?' He was starting to get up, but I was confused.

'No.' I said as clearly as possible. 'I need to do something.'

He looked down on me, beckoning a smile on his face. 'Right, take it off.'

I nodded, breathing in, as my hands rose up slowly to the top of my head. This is something not to be ashamed of, Emily. My mother used to tell me. But mum, what can I do? All the girls girls talk jib and jab about the styles and everything.
Emily.

I closed my eyes, out of a slight fear, as if a boy was about to kiss me for the first time. My hands rose to the scalp of my hair, and I started to take the pins out. One by one, I slowly placed them on the grass. After it was pretty much loose, I took the brown wig off of my head.

I lif it down in my lap. The beautiful hundreds of small hairs stuck together, to form something to make me feel less insecure just made me feel more insecure. I'm beautiful just the way I am, wether I wear a wig or not, makeup or not, I am beautiful. I hope to be remembered by that.

I threw the wig into the river. I felt some small feeling of self satisfaction doing it. I remember this one girl from the hospital, going through cancer too, she had asked me, 'Do I need to wear a wig too? I miss my hair.' Beautiful she was, and only five years old. So I said, 'no, you absolutely do not need it. But if you want to, then you can.' She smiled at me, her toothless smile, and hopped away to the small set of books near the edge of the wall.

At least I will be joining her.

Lawrence looked down on me, his brown eyes looked almost orange while the sunset was occurring around us. I let out a small smile, but I stopped myself before I said anything else.