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My passion is to write, therefore, I write. My hate is to live, therefore, I die. The note seemed hastily written, like she was expecting someone to walk in on her. But the only person that would've ever walked in on her was me. I read the note over and over again, examining the words, looking for the faults that would tell me this was all a lie. But no, there were none. She meant what she wrote, and damn it, she had kept her word. My body started to feel excruciatingly hot, and I started to sweat. I took one last look at the note, folded it up, and picked up the numerous notebooks that lay underneath. I let each spiral slip past my thumb as I counted. One, two, three, four, five, six. Six total. I opened up to the first page of the first book. It had a poem on it, also quickly scrawled out. It was an older one, I could tell by the faded pencil. I caught my name somewhere in there, but shut the book before I could read the poem. I didn't want to read right now. I just wanted to get out of this haunted apartment. As I walked out the door, I made the stupid mistake of looking back. Her body lay cold, lifeless, covered in her own sick blood. She was positioned awkwardly across her bed. The hair around where the bullet had come through was a short cascade of dark curls, matted in drying blood, with bits and fragments of brain and skull. Still in her hand was her weapon of choice. I don't know the make and model; I'm not much of a gun person. All I knew was that it was a hand gun, silver, black accents, and stains of red. I averted my eyes from the horrifying sight, only to see the words: I made this mess. Now I die in it. scribbled in Sharpie across the white wall above her mantel. Oh very good, I thought. You had this all planed out. I was getting angry at a dead person, I needed to leave now. I turned, and walked down the hallway. I pulled out my cell phone, and dialed the ever cliché 911. "Hello. This is 911. What is your emergency?" "My friend just shot herself. Apartment 209, Griffen Apartments, Riley Street, New York, New York." "Ok sir, please stay on the line. We're sending paramedics immediately. I hung up, and took those last few steps before the elevator. I pushed the call button for the elevator. Went down into the lobby. Went out onto the city street. I turned right, and started to instinctively head towards Conor's Café. It was where we had always gone to talk about shit. I pulled my black beanie from my dark grey hoodie, and forced it over my large, firey-red hair. I walked slowly, like the start-stop traffic beside me. I let my Chuck's slap the concrete. The channel whatever forecaster had said it was gonna rain all week. He hadn't lied. The sogginess made the big gray city seem even duller. Even the cars were downgraded. It all seemed 2D, the sun was hidden behind massive clouds, and there was hardly any shadow. Then, I saw a splash of color out of the corner of my eye. It was a woman; she seemed to be emitting her own kind of glowing light. She was wearing a bright yellow and green sundress. Her hair was bleach blonde, and it flew steadily behind her, keeping up with her jogging pace. She stopped, and decided to cross the street. She crossed unrealistically gracefully, weaving in between cars, not nicking even one. She had crossed, and gotten onto the sidewalk. She opened the door directly in front of her. It took me a second to realize that she had entered Conor's Café. It had also taken me a little while to realize that I had quickened my walking pace to a speed-walk. I'm not so sure why I had. There were plenty of places to sit, no way in hell she had stolen our spot. Plus, the café hardly ever had anyone in it. I reached the door, and looked in through the dirty glass. She had stolen our spot. She was sitting at the back right corner table. Her clothing and hair clashed with her surroundings. The tables were of finished pine, the walls were burgundy, and even the cups were a red-brown. Yet she oddly seemed to belong, like she had been there many times before. I entered the café. I looked around. There was no one there. Absolutely no one. Not even the usual barista. She was all alone, yet somehow she had managed to get a cup of something hot, which she gulped down quickly. A move I was far too familiar with. I decided my best move was to pounce, and take my territory back. Our territory back. As I sat down, I got the familiar whiff of chai tea. I sat there, staring out at her. She looked up from the dregs of her tea, eyeing me suspiciously. I looked into her eyes. They looked like her eyes. Her eyes were a rich golden honey color, almond in shape. They were set in her head just the right way too. She even had the same thin, blonde eyebrows as her. I looked at the rest of her face. They looked like identical twins. A heart shaped, thin, curious face. Protruding chin. Doll like lips. Button nose. Even the widow's peak. She even had the same body. Thin, average height, small everything. She looked almost exactly like her. But she had long, straight, blonde hair. She wore skimpy bright clothing, instead of dark layers. This absolutely terrified me. "Now that I'm gone, will you love me for who I was, or will you love me for what you wanted me to be?" Damn! She even had her voice! I quickly stood, slamming my knees against the table on my way up. I turned, and I started to walk away, as quickly as I could. As I walked out the door, I made the stupid mistake of looking back. There she was, yet again, laying in a pool of her own blood. I was back in her apartment. I stood, frozen. After a while, I finally decided now was as good a time as ever to look at that last poem she had ever written. I took the sixth book out of my hand, and opened it to the back of the last page. Five lines was all she wrote. Zac, your insanity has drivin me to my limits. But don't blame your self, blame my ability to cope with your demands. You were all I had ever had, and yet it seemed fleeting. I don't want to live in a world where no one loves me. Goodbye my love, I hope you will remember me as I was. I re-read the lines over and over. I hadn't even noticed I was crying till I saw clear pools form on the paper in front of me. "Marla...." I whispered, "I love you." I turned and walked away. I decided I needed to mull this over at Conor's Café. |
My favorite.