The night after she died I lied on my bed listening to her favorite songs, in hopes that I might be able to understand her a little more.
Every person has his or her own thoughts. Mine, for example, usually dwell on other people's minds. I wouldn't say I'm very social, always being the quiet one of the group. I guess it's kind of ironic that I think about people more than I interact with them.
Maybe it's weird, but I feel closer to her now than ever before. Something about her not existing anymore, she's just a distant memory, a breath passing through people's lips. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder and I've found I couldn't agree more.
The funeral is this Saturday, and I guess it's a little insensitive to only care about her after she's dead. I've looked through her binders-it was my job to clean out her locker- and I've found out a lot about her. She liked to make lists. I found at least five of them about her alone. Favorite movies, favorite songs, favorite books... I've ordered them all from the library and I've read at least half of them. By the looks of it this girl was a reader. By her list "people who've abandoned me", I'd say she didn't have a ton of friends. She had a lot of enemies, though. I'm not supposed to have looked through anything, but in the end curiosity got the better of me and I ended up going home with four of her binders plus my own yesterday. I'll return them on Monday, but first I have to look through them.
It was all over the school, everybody was talking about the girl who's committed suicide. Few days later, everybody seemed to forget. That's her, the girl who's lived and died, forgotten in a week. Her funeral an advertisement pasted around the school to remind everyone of our own feelings, that someone of our own kind has died and we have forgotten her.
I smooth my hair and readjust myself so my skirt isn't lifted up as I sit on the big chair in the living room. I'm sitting sideways on it so my hair is hanging over one armrest while my stocking feet peer over the other. Propped open on my legs are one of her binders, her English one. I've found that that's the one with most of her poems and stuff is in, as well as old papers that have been been graded. It doesn't seem like she cleans it out a lot. I've been looking for over an hour and I still haven't found anything related to her suicide in it yet. Don't people with issues usually write about them? Draw creepy pictures or whatever? Why haven't I found anything in this yet!
Frustrated, I get up and walk over to the windowsill. It's getting dark outside and I close the curtains. It's just the chair and a bunch of books in here, as well as a desk covered in papers. I put the contents of the dead girl's binder back in it and go to the other side of the room again to the desk. It's a rather big, old-fashioned desk and it has a lot of storage area in it as well as a wooden cover you can put on it when not in use. I get on my knees and open the cabinet in it. Nobody's officially used this desk since I was in junior high, so I use it to secretly store things every once in a while. Now I have the stolen binders in them. I take the binder and gently set it beside the other three. Then I get up and close the cabinet. I turn off the lamp and exit the room.
I step out of the room and head to my bedroom. It's actually a rather small room, which I chose because I don't have a lot of personal stuff. I gave the bigger room to my little sister so she could play with her dolls in it, but she died a few years ago. I haven't moved my room, mainly because my parents haven't cleared out her old stuff yet. They've been really weepy since the accident, and I think her room being untouched may be part of the reason why they haven't moved on yet. I understand that they love her a lot, but it's been five years.
My room is, like I said, pretty small. It's just big enough to hold my dresser and bed across from it. It's a big four-poster-bed and when I was younger I used to put the canopied down and pretend I had my own Castle. It was nice, being the queen. Especially when my parents yelled at each other. When I moved to the smaller bedroom I kept the bed, and sometimes I still put down all the canopies and pretend I'm far away from here.
Pursing my lips, I step into my bedroom and get on my laptop. I go to tumblr and browse through my feed for the rest of the night. Most of it is aesthetic blogs, scary stories, and quotes. At around 11:00 PM I turned off my computer, brushed my teeth, and got changed into my pajamas. Absentmindedly, I crawled into bed and turned off the light.
End of chapter one
A/N: should I continue this?
