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Words Can Kill
I told her that I wished she would die, and she did. Just like that, she fell to the floor in a heap of beautiful blonde hair and amazingly perfect skin, covered in designer clothes that complimented every beautiful feature of her body. At first I was shocked, she was dead. Then I felt grateful, ‘finally’ I thought. And then scared, terrified almost. I told her to die, and she did. Was it my fault that she was on the ground right now, not breathing?
I just stood there, frozen. Did I want to help her? Yes, I answered myself. Did I want her to live? No, I began to think. We were alone in the school hallway, I backed up against one of the deep blue lockers as time began to tick away. I look at my phone. Five minutes, five minutes she’s been like that, and I haven’t done anything to help her. Is this really what I want? Maybe, I debate whether she’s worth it or not. What if they pin me on this? I questioned. Do I get arrested, or do they call it as a suicide. I didn’t touch her. She was at least a foot away from me when she dropped. I stood there, my feet nailed to the ground.
Could I help her now? I thought as I looked at my phone again. Ten minutes, it seemed to shout, ten minutes she’s been dead. Slowly, furtively, I began to sneak away from the body. It was too late I kept repeating, nothing I can do, nothing I can save. Suddenly, almost instinctively, I began to run. I didn’t care about the sport that I was supposed to be going to, or that there was no running in the school building. All I cared about was getting out, and getting away. Away from her, away from her body, her remains.
I released myself from the building and sprinted another two blocks before I stopped behind a tree. Could I breathe? I asked as I panted for air. Yes, I am breathing, I am living. That was all that mattered now, right? That I didn’t kill her, that I had gotten away. But could I go home now? After what just happened? Would every one know I had been there when she died. And that I had stood there, watching her body lay limply on the floor while time ticked away? Would they all know that?
I breathed deeply, savoring the fact that I was alive and not like her, dead. Quietly, I looked out from behind the tree. There was nobody. Nobody had followed me, nobody had looked at me, nobody had questioned me. I walked the next 3 blocks to my house, it was long, but I needed to be by myself.
Opening the front door, the aroma of baked goods, fresh bread, and wonderful meals crawled up inside of me and relaxed my senses. I inched the door shut, not wanting my mother to know I was home yet. I tiptoed over to the kitchen and peeked in, my mother was adding some cinnamon to some type of wonderful batter that was sure to delight your taste buds once you took a bite. She whirled around to retrieve a baking pan when she saw my frightened face.
“Oh, Angela! What’s wrong?” She asked in her motherly voice. “Why aren’t you at track? You have a meet later on, don’t you?” She neared me.
I took a step back, fearing that if I spoke, I might spill about what had happened in the hall with “her”. And then, what would happen? Would my mother understand that it wasn’t my fault? Or would she call the cops, or tell some one? What then? I took another step back.
“Honey, speak. Tell me what happened.” She got even closer, and reaching out her hand, she brushed a strand of red hair out of my eyes.
I shook my head and opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t. I stood, silent, afraid to speak. “I’m-I’m going to go-go upstairs…” I stuttered, my voice trailing away as I aimlessly walked up to my room.
Once in my bright yellow room, I fell to my bed, tears creating slick rivers on my rosy cheeks. This really happened, didn’t it? A girl really died in front of me. Breathing deeply, I attempted to calm myself, hoping that my common sense would kick in, but I remained all panicky and nervous. I lay back on my pillow and stared at the ceiling, and almost out of no where, I saw her lifeless body on the marble floor of the school, and then there were people, gathering around, crying, screaming,
talking on the phone about a girl that was dead.
“Her name?” I heard a voice in my head asked as the vision continued.
“Sandra Lenner, she’s a 10th grader.” Some one replied just as a man in uniform moved into the vision on my popcorn ceiling.
“Do you have any contact information? A parents number, home address? Anything?” The man asked as he kneeled down to get a better look at the body.
A lady ran up to the officer. “Her father owns the Lenner and Brother’s Company and her mother is away in Spain. I don’t think any one is home for her.” I cringed. None of her parents will know that their daughter was dead, not yet at least. Right now, they will work and shop and relax and believe that every thing will be wonderful when they return only to discover that their daughter has been laying in the morgue while they were away.
Another warm, salty tear inched down my face and rested on my lower lip. Then, I began to believe, believe that it was my fault, that I had killed her. I tried to brush the idea away, but it kept returning. “It was you!” it yelled and shrieked. “You killed her! You killed her!”
“NO!” I kept saying, trying to convince myself that it wasn’t my fault, that I didn’t do it. I couldn’t have, right? Or could I. could I have killed her, some how, without touching her, without nearing her. Were my words that harsh? Harsh enough to stop her heart, and kill her soul. Could I say something so mean that would actually end a persons life? The thought scared me.
I was not a mean person. Sure, I had people I didn’t like, but I never said anything rude or mean to their face. But then there was her, Sandra. She was dead, and the last thing I had said to her was “I wish you would die”.
It hit me like a train, knocking the wind out of my lungs. I sat up, gasping for air, crying! The room was dark and the world outside of my windows was still asleep, including her, Sandra. She was not dead, I had not said anything to her.
Catching my breath in my familiar room, words kept running through my mind, soon making it unbearable to think straight. I jumped out of bed and grabbed a stray spiral notebook and a pen. On the first page, I wrote a line that would guide me through the rest of my life without any regrets.
“Words Can Kill”