Dear Allison

This is a short story that I wrote for school, but I thought I'd enter it for the writing contest since it fits the topic.

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

by: Eunoia
Dear Allison,


I'm not sure why I'm writing this letter. I know that you won't be able to respond or read this. I can't believe you're really gone. I have to keep reminding myself that I won't see you at school anymore and that I can't call you to tell you how bad things get at home. At school, it's even worse. Spencer and Lana and them still laugh about you. Whenever they pass me in the hall, they make cutting motions at the wrist, and all I can hear for the rest of the day is their taunting hoots of laughter. I hate them even more than I hate my dad.

But then I think about what I've done and what I haven't done, and I hate myself too. I'm sorry I wasn’t there for you. I was horrible friend; I was so busy complaining about my own pathetic self and my own life that I didn't notice all the things you were going through too. I could feel in my heart that you were slipping away. A part of me didn’t want to accept that you weren’t the same happy, carefree Allison anymore. You've been hurting all along, but I was too blind to see it. I'm no better than Spencer or Lana.

I think about you a lot, and when I do, I feel numb all over. I can't even bring myself to cry; it was as if this sadness was far past that. I go to school and I go home and I do my homework and I do everything I have to. But it feels like I'm not even there. Even Mrs. Reeve, who doesn’t teach any of my classes, asked me if I was okay in the hallway.

Your funeral was the worst of them all. It was crowded with people, crowded with a sea of people you never told me about or mentioned. I have a feeling that most of them have never even talked to you before. I remember the priest was talking, but I wasn't listening. My mind was busy trying to accept facts that my heart had rejected. Ethan looked the saddest of all. I remember when we were younger and whenever I came over to your house, Ethan would always try to join our games and be a part of our fun. One time when we'd told him to go away, he started crying and your mom yelled at us. Even then, the hurt in his eyes was nothing compared to pain I saw on his face at your funeral.

I'm sorry that this letter has to end on that upsetting notion, but I'll write another letter when I need to.



Harry

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