The Water

The water moves in swift waves. Going, coming back, going, coming back, going, but coming back yet again. It reminds me of humans. Someone could be hurt 100 times and still want to come back, but for what? For the hope that the person won't do it again, but they do, and for some reason the person still goes back.

As humans we never really learn what's right and what's wrong. Sure you know 2+2=4 but do you know when to draw the line in an abusive relationship? Do you even know what qualifies as abusive? Do you know when to stop? When enough is enough? Well, you might, but some don't. It's like the big rocks in the ocean, you might not always see them, but if you get dragged down by a wave one might kill you, and you would have never known it was there if you didn't get pulled under.

He was family friend, someone who occasionally came over for dinner parties my mom insisted on throwing. He'd talk to my mom about work, have a drink with my dad, talk to my brother about cars, but he'd never talk to me. He'd just stare. I'd catch him looking at me every once in awhile, i'd give a faint smile and look down at my drink as my smile faded and my heart dropped.

I never liked him, there was just something about him that made me uneasy. Maybe it was the way his crooked smile revealed his yellow teeth every time i looked at him, or the way he always had a hand in his pocket, or the way he tapped his foot against the chair to a beat i could never name but seemed so familiar.

His name is Andrew, or as my mom calls him, Andy. He has no children, which might also be a reason he makes me uneasy. He lives alone, not even a pet. He always wears a jacket, even when it's hot outside. Andy also has a tattoo, at least one, however i can't see anything but his neck most the time, the tattoo looks like a lady. The lady had a bun and a cute dress on, and there was words but i could never read them, and yet the lady also looked so familiar.

I was 15 when he killed me. When the knife slid across my neck as if it was butter. When the last thing i saw was that crooked smile and yellow teeth. When i told my mom i'd be home soon yet i never returned. When i told Jamie i'd see her tomorrow not knowing that for me, there was no tomorrow. Just today, october 23, 2014, my last day. I remember it. I remember everything about that day, i'd remember the clouds if there were any, i remember the way my mom handed me my lunch bag, the way my dad turned the key and the gentle hum of the car soon after. But what seemed like any other day was anything but. Im dead now, and Andy is still living alone, with no pets, occasionally coming over and talking talk to my mom about work, having a drink with my dad, and talking to my brother about cars, as if he hadn't taken my life as easy as he took a bite out of the cherry pie my mother made, for my family never found out who killed me.