As Melissa George sat quietly at her desk, a million thoughts were running through her head at a hundred miles per hour. She had great difficulty concentrating on the assignment her teacher, Mrs. Maeloni, had handed out thirty minutes ago. It had been a month since "the incident" occured, and Melissa could still not shake the feelings that ran around in her mind. It was so odd, realizing how miserale someone had to be in order to do such a thing. She couldn't imagine how his family felt about the whole situation. Even she felt a little hurt and betrayed by the decision he chose to make, even though she had hardly spoken to the kid.


Melissa had been taught all her life that doing such a thing to yourself was wrong, and it was the one sin that could not be forgiven. She wondered if the young man had ever been told the same thing before. Maybe he didn't even care. It wasn't like that mattered anymore, anyway, and it wasn't really any of her business. It was Michael Tike's business, and his business alone.


Melissa was suddenly shaken out of her thoughts when Mrs. Maeloni placed a hand on her shoulder. Melissa nearly jumped about ten feet out of her chair, and let out a small squeak of surprise. Some of the other students looked over in her direction, and chuckled. Mrs. Maeloni quickly apologized and offered her student a small smile.


"I didn't mean to startle you, Melissa, you just looked a little out of it," Mrs. Maeloni spoke quietly, "is everything alright? Do you have any questions?" Melissa shook her head, and placed her hands on her desk. "No, I'm good, Mrs. Maeloni. I'm just, um... I'm trying to figure out how to answer this one question. I'll be fine!"


Melissa was really just trying to get all of the attention off of her. Not only did she almost fall out of her seat, but now she was starting to babble like an idiot. She could feel everyones' eyes on her, and it was almost as if they had heat vision; her cheeks felt uncomfortably warm, and were glowing with a bright red hue. Mrs. Maeloni - who still towered over her - noticed this, and could not help but to giggle. It wasn't funny at all to Melissa. In fact, it was rather humiliating, and she desperately wanted everyone to go away.


"Alright, Melissa, but if you have any problems, come ask me for help," Mrs. Maeloni said, as if she could read her mind, and started to walk away. The other students also continued working on their questions. Melissa sighed quietly, relieved that yet another crisis was averted. Now she could finally get back to daydreaming about nothing in particular. At the end of class, all she handed in was a poorly-answered, half-finished packet of vocabulary questions.


Six hours later, Melissa returned home. That pleasant feeling of comfort washed over her, and she had no problems embracing it. Being home, where a reasonable amount of good food, a working heater and A.C., clean and comfortable clothes, a hot shower, and a large bed always awaited, was the best feeling in the world. As much as she enjoyed her car ride conversations with her father, she was much happier to be somewhere where she could rest, and not talk for a while. It felt amazing not being surrounded by noise anymore. Silence was always welcomed by Melissa; it was cherished.


However, when it was silent, it gave Melissa time to think, which wasn't always a positive thing. When she was able to stop and think, she entered a completely different world. This world of hers often did not show her pleasant images. Sometimes, these images would bring back memories from long ago, and also from recent experiences. One little movie played back in her head of that one time when she tripped up the stairs at school, and the people surrounding her rushed to her side to see if she was alright. The only part of her that really hurt that moment was her dignity.


Then, just as the credits began to roll, another movie flickered on. This time it was suddenly showing her Michael, a few days before his last. He was telling her something about medieval China during history class, and she could barely understand a word he was saying. He sounded nervous to be talking to her, and that lisp of his was showing no mercy upon him. She was tuning him out that time, as there was around ten worksheets piled up on her desk. Whatever dumb facts he had to tell her that day could wait until different time. Now, a month later, Melissa yearned for the chance to listen to him again.


Before Melissa had a chance to tell her thoughts "no more," one final jumble of clips revealed themselves to her. She saw Michael being pushed around in the stairwell on his way to lunch, and other, larger boys cursing at him, commanding him to get out of their way. The next thing she saw was Michael sitting alone in the very back of the bus, curled up around his overpacked bookbag. The bag was like his rock, holding him down to earth. He had nothing else to hang onto, here, besides sobering facts and flimsy, crumpled paper. She, who had been sittig in the very front of the bus, saw this sad sight, and felt the urge to sit next to Michael. She did not, though, and turned her back on him. Everyone turned their backs on Michael Tike.


Melissa shook her head again, quickly dismissing these thoughts. She had somehow made her way upstairs, into her room, and had been lying in bed for about an hour now. It was as if she had sleepwalked her way through her daily after-school routine. Maybe she was more exhausted than she had previously thought. Maybe she cared more about this acquaintance of hers than she let on. It was weird to think that she wouldn't get another chance to do the right thing.


What angered Melissa most, was hearing all the students at her school go on and on about what a "cool kid he was," and "how he knew a lot more big words." Everyone was throwing around compliments left, right, and center about Michael. But no one ever told him these things when he was still here. They had no problem with pushing him around like a rag doll, barking orders at him, and copying his work; but no one could ever spare one minute of their time to tell Michael how truly amazing he was. This included Melissa, herself.


That was part of why it angered her so much, because not even she could show some humility. She felt embarrassed to be seen with Michael at any time; she thought he was weird, and ugly. Maybe if she had just... said something nice, anything! Just maybe he would have stayed. Melissa saw all the signs, but was too wrapped up in her own arrogance to even try and make conversation with the kid. She couldn't spare one moment of her life trying to listen to what Michael had to say. She was part of this whole problem, but couldn't be bothered to change. Melissa was angry with everyone at that school, especially herself.


Whatever was left of that wonderful feeling of comfort, immediately vanished. She had let her thoughts run too rampant today, and she had enough of it. This had gotten worse, much worse, and Melissa did not want to focus on Michael's stupid lisp, his chapped lips, and his small eyes. She did not want to remember how lost and afraid he looked. It upset her too much, at this point.


Melissa reached into the nightstand by the side of her bed, and felt around inside for a moment. She finally pulled out a small pair of scissors, and scanned around the edges of its sharp blades. Never before had she intentionally hurt herself, but she was scrambling for a way to take her mind off the anger she felt. She winced as the cold tip of the right blade ghosted over the underside of her arm. Breathing in deeply, she began to add a new reminder of all she had regretted.