The Last Dance

March 28, 2009
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Debbie wasn’t the prettiest girl in the school. She was slightly over weight, had freckles, and couldn’t afford the nicest clothes.

Everyday she would get up and drag herself to that dump people call school. School, where people have fun with their friends and laugh- at her. Debbie had no friends. No one would sit and talk to her, and she was to shy to go up and talk to anyone. She was alone. She told others she liked it that way, but, inside, she hated it.

Like every normal middle school girl, she had a crush. His name was Kahle. He was one of those “cool” guys, or so they say.

At the dance the school was hosted one star-sprinkled night, Debbie decided to be brave. She was going to ask Kahle to dance with her. “What could be the worst thing that could happen? Him saying no? Big whoop. I can take it.” That’s what she thought, but she was soon to know that she was wrong.

Debbie walked over to Kahle and- looking down- in a quiet voice said “Kahle, will you please dance with me: I really like you, and I have for a while. I was just thinking it would be ni-,”

She never was able to finish, for she was cut off by rude, mocking laughter.

Debbie was horrified.

Finally, Kahle decided to compose himself enough to answer. “Why would I want to dance with sprinkled blubber? To make me look like an idiot? Ha! No thanks. And anyway, I don’t dance with girls that get there clothes from a garbage can.”

This started up another round of laugher between Kahle and his friends, but a round of tears for poor Debbie.

She couldn’t take it; just standing there crying with her face in her hands. Debbie ran home. Her dad- who she lived with since her mom had left when she was little- was out; probably getting drunk.

She went straight to the medicine cupboard. The huge bottle of Ibuprofen was just waiting there, and, with out thinking, she took a handful.

*
*
*

Debbie’s father got back home later that night, drunk. He went to the bathroom and was to drunk to notice her laying there unconscious.

In the morning, finally sober again, Debbie’s father made his way into the bathroom again and this time noticed Debbie. He quickly called the hospital, but when he took her there, she was pronounced DOA. It was too late.


This story is fiction, but it is based on truth. There are so many teen suicides every single yeah. Don’t be the next. Don’t be that poor girl, Debbie, who now never has a chance to make friends, never get married, and never have her life back. Most importantly, don’t be like Kahle. You never know what or how much of an impact you words might have on someone…





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