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In a lot of ways she was still there. She just wasn't as there as the rest of them. She hadn't died, or disappeared, she just stopped being what she was. One day, it had all just vanished.
It started so easily. Just a few clicks and she vanished from the internet. Just popped right out of existence. 50 people would never see or hear from her again. Unfortunately, this was not enough vanishing for her. All those pictures, all those people with all those thoughts of her, all those opinions. They still existed. There was no way she could make those vanish. There was no way to scrub that clean. Maybe that was a good thing though. Maybe they could use those photos to piece her together, those opinions to make her real. Unfortunately, she didn't see it that way.
“Someone must have said something to her.”
“Maybe her boyfriend left her.”
“Maybe her mom got mad at her.”
“She probably just wants attention.”
She had to make her real self vanish as well. She had to make herself disappear, and she would not rest until she had. She arrived at school thirty minutes early, to steal her books from her locker, while prying eyes were still in bed. She spent the rest of the time curled up in a corner in the back of the library. Hushed and silent, it was almost as if she didn't exist. Unfortunately, she didn't think so. 30 people would never see her again.
“I hear she went back to private school.”
“Someone told me she got moved to special ed.”
“She probably thinks she is better than us.”
Lunch was more difficult, more people, fewer places. So she stopped eating lunch, and started going to the bathroom instead. She still attended her classes; saw the same people, said the same things. She was just less interested, less present. Unfortunately, this wasn't enough. 20 people lost touch.
“She is bulimic.”
“She got into drugs.”
“We disgust her.”
She carried a notebook with her. She would scribble in it, in the back of the library. On the way to school, and in the bathroom during lunch. It made her seem real, but only to herself. She decided it was okay to think of yourself as real, and she needed the notebook to plan. And unfortunately, she needed to plan. 15 people stopped caring.
“She is so emo.”
“That's where she writes the names of people she wants to kill.”
“Jenna says its something her therapist is making her do.”
One day, just as winter was leaving, she fished $13 out of her back pocket, and traded it for a tiny slip of paper. She boarded a double-decker bus, and sped away towards a different city, a different place. Somewhere were she didn't have to be real. Unfortunately, she always would be. 3 people said hello.
“Where she is from?”
“Why is she here?”
“Who is she?”