Friday, December 9, 2016
It was my high school story. I left it in the summer for them to read. A book for them to look at. Read. And understand perhaps. Life was not all about them. Look closely at the simple girl. The one who always said hi to you. She was watching the whole time. She noticed when your turned you back on others. She helped up the ones you pushed over. I wrote this book for them. For me. For her. The one who walked around the halls and did not say a word. She was lonely inside and I knew it. I gave her a new name and a new life. She went on trips and fell in love. I gave her the boy of her dreams and he loved her for every moment of it. I killed her. I let her die. Only in the book so she wouldn't in real life. I let the life slip through her hands in the lines that I wrote. I watched as she struggled with all the things I did. Then it came to me. This book wasn't for her or them. This book was for me. This was my story should I let it live. So I killed the girl. And I got to live.