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Oct 31st, 2014
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  1. Pain. Why? Agony. I was lying on the floor, completely still. I distantly hear someone speaking, but their voice is fuzzy, blurred, mixed together…
  2. I'm also aware that I'm crying. Someone brushed the tears off of my face. I let out a whimper, keeping my eyes squeezed shut.
  3. Why? Fear. Betrayal. This can’t be happening… you wouldn’t have betrayed me…
  4. But you did. YOU DID. I'm curled up into a ball. I can taste blood, but I ignore it, no, that wasn’t important…
  5.  
  6. The world was alive and changing. It was almost funny how that statement would have been true at any point in history, but it never felt more true than it did when I lost him at 15 years old. I'm sitting here by the edge of a river near the treehouse in the woods between our two houses. By "our," I mean Kian and I. He was my best friend. Oh, how I miss the days where we used to laugh and joke, trust each other with anything. I even miss the days where we didn't speak for a week at age 13 over a stupid rumor. My name is Avery, and I am 16 years old. I savor every moment I had with him. It sometimes feels like he's still here, still with me, with the world. But the sharp realities felt more like noise now. They seemed more distant now, like a pedal distorting an unpleasant tone. Burying it in noise, distancing itself - joining a larger context. He's gone. And all that I have left of us are memories.
  7. The air drifted past and made my black hair that stuck out of my cap a flurry in the wind. In two weeks exactly, it will mark the date of 1 year since Kian committed suicide. I kicked at the rocks surrounding the river. The clacks of my heel sounded against the stone, echoing. I always see shadows of him in my vision. Images, thoughts, hallucinations. Their black shapes contrasted against the hue of the sky, so dark, like the void he left upon leaving this earth. The current slows down, and the fog clears up a bit. I look into the deep waters, as a bottle floats along the top of the water. It comes into the corner of my vision like a hawk in the sky. I quickly reach for it because I spot a paper inside. It takes me awhile, but I manage to pluck the cap off of the glass container. I take the paper out and unravel it.
  8. “He was always a burden, what a shame he was taken so soon. With love, -A.”
  9. Stupid note. I throw it into the river, and make my way home.
  10. Once I walk into my house, the warm atmosphere due to the heat makes me sweat. Dad thinks I’m always chilly because of the low temperatures of Spring Hill, Montana. I tread my way to my room, reaching for my phone. It gives off a slight glow, illuminating my face. 6:52 PM. My father gets off of work at 7:30 PM on weekends, 5:00 PM on weekdays. As for my mother, she left us when I was three. Today is Saturday, so my dad should be home soon. I don’t really do much in my spare time. Kian and I used to go skip rocks by the river, or go hang out at the treehouse he built for his 11th birthday. He always wanted a place to be alone because his parents would always fight. He even wanted to move into that treehouse. He had food stored, and he ran an electrical wire up the tree so he could have some electricity up there. I thought about the note I found in the bottle.. It must’ve been some sick joke about me losing Kian. The fact that whoever wrote it put “taken so soon” sickens me. They’re acting like he didn’t leave by choice. I suppose he didn’t, he just felt like it was too much to go on, so he ended his life. But the note definitely makes it seem like Kian was murdered. What a silly thought. I think back to the last time I talked to Kian. Remembering the losing of sanity in his voice, the screams, “I hate you.” As I’m thinking of the bad memory, I realize I should just throw all the shards of it away. Only keep the things that make me happy in my life. I begin to write out my emotions, mostly about him. The pain came in waves, reminding me that I am alive.
  11. “You were the one that everyone loved. The one that made people’s lives worth living. I remember your mother was scared to call me and say that you were getting worse. I remember you telling me that you could feel the pain in your bones. You felt a different kind of pain. The kind of pain that never really leaves. I miss you, Kian.” I was suddenly engulfed in sadness. Thinking about him was like daggers to my heart. Out of nowhere, a crow came crashing into my window, like a wounded soldier with a purpose. It regained stability and flew off, off to wherever it felt like it was needed. I look at the damage the bird took to my window, and shrug it off. Knowing my father, he will have it fixed by the time I wake up tomorrow. Lying on my floor, is a letter tied with a orange ribbon. Orange was Kian’s favorite color. Just as I start to read it, it’s like the words suck the fresh air out of my lungs and filled them with water. “Want to know what really happened to your beloved? Meet me at Rave tonight, 10:00.” Rave was a nightclub in our small town of Spring Hill. I don’t know who’s so cruel to put up a joke like this, but whoever it is, I’m going to end their sick little game tonight. When it reached 9:30, I decided to make my way to rave by walking since it was not that far from my house. It was a cold, breezy autumn night. The wind kicked leaves down the sidewalk, and the trees shivered in its wake. The old yellowed streetlamps cast an eerie glow across the small suburban cul de sac, not quite light, but not quite dark.
  12. Even in the afternoon the city is already covered in warm Christmas lights. The frost is biting at my pale skin and I’m walking outside with no coat, cautiously sipping at the boiling hot paper cup of coffee in my hands. I throw myself carelessly through the herds of people on the street and I just keep going until I see it. 10:00 PM. Dark room. Bodies everywhere. Moving. Touching. Lights. Blink blink blink, thump thump thump. Rhythm pulsing through the thick scum of air, the thick scum of people dancing to it. Living in this town since I was a newborn, I was surprised that I don’t recognize anyone at this point. Even the DJ. He might have been there every time I’ve ever been here, which was only four, but I didn’t recognize him. But I do recognize this feeling coursing through her blue stained veins. It was thicker than self-hatred, it was thinner than regret, something kinda like complacency. Let me just tell you something. I never asked to be weird, in fact I did my best to stay away from that title and what comes along with it. But fate apparently didn't care about my life goals and slapped me upside the head with a bat that said 'suck it up'. And after a few years of life dragging me along while I desperately clung to any and all remains of the years in which I was actually called "cool", I gave in and embraced the weird side of me. Unless you want to spend your time longing after people who either don't know you exist or don't exist altogether, I wouldn’t suggest falling into the lifestyle I have chosen. Getting messages from anonymous people about your dead best friend, seeing your reflection blink. That kind of weird. Here at Rave, there’s a bunch of people dancing to electronic pop music that I have no taste for. I personally like death metal, or indie, but whatever. Through all the people, I spot them, ‘A.’ They look like they have a mans figure, while wearing a black sweatshirt with its hood up, and black leather gloves. I walk over to him just as he spots me as well, and being to interrogate him.
  13. “What’s this stuff with Kian you’re going on about?” I question.
  14. As he tears at me with his cold eyes, the strange man hands me a letter. I look at it and storm out. I came here for an explanation and all he gives me is a stupid piece of paper. I make my way home.
  15. It hurt. Like a million different controlled electric shocks to the brain. The world may seem still to you at this hour, but it hits me like an overdue train. These streets are as quiet and as hollow as my mind. The night sucks all the life from the world and unloads it into my once forgotten heart. Its sidewalks glisten from the light of the moon and its streets only rarely see the flow of traffic. And the lights in the distance are no longer from the towers and the planes, but signals that tell me to keep moving forward. I am here. This is now. And despite what my mind tells me, I am still alive. My spring and summer have faded, and autumn cracks my lips, the skin around my eyes, and even the dark blue orbs in my eyes seem duller than they did a few years
  16. ago. I begin to read the letter that the man gave me while I’m walking home.
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