Beautiful blue eyes, surfing in tears, she stands alone in a crowded room.
Her arms are crossed in front of her torso, her skin pale and her face sucked of any color. She looks like a ghost in her white dress, but she’s there - silent, shaking. Her eyes don’t waver from the opposing wall she’s standing against, and she doesn’t try to form a smile on lips that haven’t curved in two days.
People scatter around the room, offering condolences in different corners. For who, it doesn’t matter; everyone there has lost someone. Art teachers, soccer trainer, mom, asshole preps.... Everyone’s missing the same person in their life - there’s a hole in their life story that wasn’t foreshadowed - not even a bit. He was the kid who drew the most detailed picture of a penis in Ms. Stein’s class; he was the kid who assisted a tiny girl by running after her loose dog; he was the kid who was going to be eighth in his class.
A foreign voice comes on the overhead speaker, asking everyone in a scratchy voice to sit down. She watches as everyone obediantly does so, but she doesn’t move. Not when the lights are dimmed, and not when an event planner offers her a front row seat. She just stares at the wall, arms crossed, limbs stiff, eyes overflowing with tsunami tides.
A screen glows in the front of the room and projects a picture on a larger one behind it, a familiar face appearing on the cemented wall. The girl’s heart hammers in her chest and her face grows hot in embarrassment in fear of everyone hearing it. With a defeated sigh, her eyes waver and she looks into the eyes of the kid who was her best friend - the guy who committed suicide.
Beautiful blue eyes, surfing in tears, the girl’s lips curve.
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