*Note: There is a song that goes along to the story later to the bottom. I attached the link into it, but just in case you can't find the link in the story, the link is right here.
Also, as a note, thank you for reading my story. I worked very hard on it, and it means a lot that you took the time out of your day to read it. Please feel free to comment your ideas and opinions.
Also, as a note, thank you for reading my story. I worked very hard on it, and it means a lot that you took the time out of your day to read it. Please feel free to comment your ideas and opinions.
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She died on a Monday night. The world had her in it's grip, and would refuse to let her out, but instead would push her deeper and deeper into sadness. The world was a unfair place, that treated some with respect and love, and would demolish and tear apart the others. She was one of those unlucky few who could no longer take the neglect of life.
No sixteen year old should have her life shortened so close to adulthood and so early to never feel the hands of love. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe if she saw the people who showed up at the church that held her funeral three days after her death, she would choose to stay alive. Maybe if she heard all of the stories that the people had of her, she would not have taken those pills to her lips.
In the crowed, there was another delicate young lady, who held a special part of her heart, reserved for the girl who took her life. The two of them were inseparable. That friend watched her friend smile while they swung on the swings at the park when they were just children. The friend heard every good story that she had to tell. The stories about adventures that she took, and the thoughts that floated through her head. The friend knew all of her stories by heart. The friend could pick out her voice in the crowed, and could tell every little secret that her friend had. The friend knew the story about her first kiss, with a boy under a stop sign on a early summer day. And the songs that spoke to her friend, and the things that made her laugh and cry. The two of them knew how to synchronize their thought patterns so they knew the others thoughts, just by a look they would share.
The only way to describe these two were an obvious match made from heaven.
Because the friend knew her friend so well, she looked at her lying in that small black coffin, and knew what led her to do this. Trust was a silly thing to have, and a silly idea in general. Taking your emotions and thoughts, and telling someone else, so they share your ideas and feelings. But there are those who take that secret bond, and break them. When those people do that, it often chips off a part of that person, so they feel betrayed and in pain. They chose to share with you something they held close and personal to them, and they gave it to you, thinking that you could keep it close to your heart as well. But sometimes, that is not the case.
This girl that lay in that box in front of the room trusted too much. But it was not secrets that she shared. It was herself. She would choose a boy, that she cared about in general, and would share with them the deepest thing that she could share. Her heart was her own temple, which she would only let the kindest of hearts take. But to this girl, everyone could be trusted. So, time after time, men, who were really just boys, would come in and take advantage of her love. And later, when she tried to talk to them, none of them wanted any interest, unless they wanted to lead her on some more just for the fun of it. Over and over, her heart was taken and broken.
Some people were made to deal and live with broken hearts, or could be okay with never talking to the other one again. This girl was not one of them. Every time she gave herself up, and they betrayed her, she felt like a part of her body was chipped off, and she could never get that part of her body back. They would forever hold that piece of her body, that no one else could ever have.
And when the deceased girls friend took a look around the bodies that packed the room, all blended in black, she could see every single one of those boys standing in that room, tears in their eyes. Their faces shined like they actually cared about her. They eyes looked sad, and their normally cruel lips sunk down into a frown. Why was it that while this girl was alive, none of these boys would give her the time of day, but the moment death took her by the hand, they all of a sudden cared. It was not fair to her.
The friend turned and looked to the front of the audience, where people would one by one step up on stage, and tell stories of the girl before she took her life. Many faces in the room had tear streaks down it, but some people were in so much shock that they stared off into space. But the friend knew that the only reason most of these people were here to seem like they cared, those boys included. Most people did not care for the girl, because she had not much friends, and stuck to the walls. She was invisible. But to those who truly knew her, she shined like a star in the dark night sky.
The friend felt a small prick of surprise and anger when one of those boys stepped up on stage. He was one of the guys that hurt her the most. He promised her love, and affection, and a heart to share, but then ripped it all away from her. He was not like the others, who just came in and out. This boy was careful to win her over with promises of love. And she fell for it every time. The friend bit her lip, and watched as the boy gripped the desk that people stood behind, and straitened up to talk into the microphone. The friend knew that the words that flooded from the boy's mouth was a fountain of lies. He spoke of words that seemed to have been copied from a stupid Google quote. He spoke as though he actually cared about the girl, he spoke about her like she was an important person in his life, he spoke about that girl as if he wanted to be with her forever. And that friend felt a bitter hatred in her mouth as he spoke.
The friend watched as he walked off the stage, only to be patted on the back by all of his friends. The friend knew that the only reason he went on that stage was to give himself closure, to make himself feel better, like what he did to her was forgiven, like it never happened.
The friend slouched back into her seat, feeling like she should step up on stage, and talk about her, and tell everyone about how amazing she was, but just before she could stand, another boy picked himself up, and slowly made his way up to the stage.
Shock came upon the friend as she watched him. This boy was not like the other boys in the room. He was not one of those who broke her heart, and had one night stands with her, he was as close to a man as you could go for a sixteen year-old boy. The friend did like this boy. Months before, him and the girl dated. The friend watched them hold each other, and laugh, and share moments with one another. But because of unknown reasons, the two of them had to break apart as a couple. The girl was devastated for months, and the friend occasionally talked to the boy. He was just as heart broken. Eight months have passes since the two of them split up.
Those last few weeks, the friend was aware that the two of them were talking. She heard her friend stay up at night, talking on the phone with him, taking about small things in their lives. He was the boy that every girl in the world should have. While they were dating, the friend knew that the girl who now lay in the coffin, would get surprise roses from the boy, and he would write her notes that would lift her spirits. When the two of them were dating, the friend saw how happy the two of them were. And that made the friend happy.
Earlier, before the funeral, the friend looked around in the audience, and never saw that boy there, which is why it took the friend by shock as she saw him drag himself up to the stage. The room fell even more silent than it was before. It was so quiet that you could not only hear your thoughts, but the thoughts of the person next to you as well.
People normally dressed up for funerals. They try to look nice, so they can show respect or whatever. Not this boy. This boy looked as though he went though hell and back. His shirt was untucked, and his normally curly hair stuck up in every direction and the laces on his black shoes were untied and dragging agents the carpet. But what was most shocking was the swelling of his face. His cheeks were puffy and his eyes were red where tears obviously attacked. Next to the coffin of the girl, there was a small table that held a pot of flowers. The boy dragged his feet over to the table, and picked up the pot and placed it gently on the ground.
The friend watched as he moved the pot of flowers, but was taken back when he crawled on top of the the small table, and crossed his legs under him, and pulled out a small black phone from his pocket with a pair of ear buds wrapped around it. The boy took the ear buds, and yanked it out, and placed them on the table a few inches from where he sat.
The friend did not know what was going on, as she watched the boy scroll through his phone, clearly looking for something. The friend knew that the audience was filled with just as much confusion as the friend. No one knew what was going on, or what he would do, but no one dared to go up on stage to find out, or interrupt him.
It seemed like hours passed before the boy found what he was looking for, even though it was probably just about thirty seconds. Taking a deep breath, he clicked on the phone, and the introduction of a song started to echo through the room, and the friend felt her breath stick in her throat. She knew that song. It was a song that seemed to have the girl's memory filled in it. It danced through the air, and it seemed to capture the girl's voice, and thoughts. The friend did not know what to do at that moment, but let her jaw slack, and felt her palms start to dampen in sweat. If the girl would have known that this song would have been played at her funeral, the friend knew that she would have never locked herself in that room and took her life.
This song had everything that the friend knew the girl wanted. The friend saw that the boy, that sat on the table by her coffin, he did love her. He looked down at her corpse, his eyes glowing with heart-break and passion. Never has the friend seen a look like this, and it is a look she never wanted to forget. The friend took great note of how to boy kept his eyes locked on the open casket. The words of the song seeming to grow louder and louder, like they were pounding in the friend ears, even though the boy never turned up the song.
That boy bit his bottom lip so hard, that the friend could see a small bit of blood start to show, as he looked down at his hands, that shook in sadness. Finally, the song ended just as suddenly as it started, and the friend knew that not a single person in the cramped room was breathing.
The boy turned and clicked his phone off, and put his feet back on the ground, and picked up the pot, putting it back where it belonged on the table, and walked down the middle of the isle down to the back door of the church, and opened the door, before letting it swing close.
The friend starred at the brown door that just closed for a long moment, before turning and taking in the sight of the audience. All the people sitting in the pews around the room, and standing agents the wall, or perched in random areas looked lost in their thoughts. No one in the room stepped up to the stage to say another anything else for a long time. Everyone just looked off into the distance, not breathing much, not looking at anything in particular, and not moving.
Everyone in the crowed, including those boys who broke her heart, knew that that boy loved that girl, and that no one would ever be more heart broken over anyone. The friend, and everyone in the room knew that the memory of the boy on the table, and the song would never leave their heads, and would stick there for years, rolling around, and causing tears. Everyone in the room wished in that moment, that someone would love them one day as much as that boy loved that girl who lay in the coffin.
