Authors Note-
Sometimes writing comes to you just as is. It comes through as something sad, something happy, or something totally random. This piece originally started out being written as a happy topic -childhood- but turned into a very unhappy piece by the end.
She told everyone that she was hit by a car, that Bridget had died in this terrible accident out of foolishness, but I knew. I knew the truth, the truth about how she really died. Bridget's parents had always had problems, her father being a complete hypochondriac and her mother being an alcoholic.
As an only child, Bridget was limited to the world of school, and being obedient and loyal to her parents, even during times when she most wanted to see her friends, or maybe even spend a couple minutes for leisure. And now that I'm sitting in this chair, before the delicate casket holding her lifeless form, I didn’t understand how she could have been so happy whenever I saw her, how she could have always been positive on the outlook of life.
"Today will be lived like there is no tomorrow" she always said, but now there is no tomorrow and it's all my fault. If I hadn't picked up the stupid phone, like the selfish, awful person I am, none of us ever would have been sitting here today, sitting here in grief over a dead body, the dead body of my fourteen year old best friend, Bridget.
Sometimes writing comes to you just as is. It comes through as something sad, something happy, or something totally random. This piece originally started out being written as a happy topic -childhood- but turned into a very unhappy piece by the end.
She told everyone that she was hit by a car, that Bridget had died in this terrible accident out of foolishness, but I knew. I knew the truth, the truth about how she really died. Bridget's parents had always had problems, her father being a complete hypochondriac and her mother being an alcoholic.
As an only child, Bridget was limited to the world of school, and being obedient and loyal to her parents, even during times when she most wanted to see her friends, or maybe even spend a couple minutes for leisure. And now that I'm sitting in this chair, before the delicate casket holding her lifeless form, I didn’t understand how she could have been so happy whenever I saw her, how she could have always been positive on the outlook of life.
"Today will be lived like there is no tomorrow" she always said, but now there is no tomorrow and it's all my fault. If I hadn't picked up the stupid phone, like the selfish, awful person I am, none of us ever would have been sitting here today, sitting here in grief over a dead body, the dead body of my fourteen year old best friend, Bridget.
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6 weeks earlier
"Casey, I need your help!", said her frantic strained voice. "I need you to get to my house now, help me Bridget, she's attacking me again."
"Whoa, slow down," I said "what's going on Bridget?"
She began to tell me but then she stopped leaving her last words to be... "My mom... she's... she's..."
"She's what Bridget? What is she doing? Bridget! Answer me!", I tried helplessly to scream at her through the phone but with no success, no answer.
"Whoa, slow down," I said "what's going on Bridget?"
She began to tell me but then she stopped leaving her last words to be... "My mom... she's... she's..."
"She's what Bridget? What is she doing? Bridget! Answer me!", I tried helplessly to scream at her through the phone but with no success, no answer.
Bridget must have dropped the phone because there was a loud, "woook" noise and then I listened carefully as the soft patter of her feet walked away and left me with the quiet buzz of the receiver. I sat on my bed and thought of all the fun times Bridget and I have had together. She had been my best friend since before kindergarten, the only person who truly understood me, who loved me for who I am.
As I heard her mother's voice ask her in the background, "Bridget, were you just using the phone? What did I say about using the phone?" I felt sorry for ever listening, ever listening to that terrible, eerie voice, because as the large whirlwind of screaming started, I couldn't forget any of the words. Any of the piercing, ear shattering words that her mother shouted halfway across the world. Then there was a soft click, following shortly after a giant rustle, and a prevailing bang. Just like that, all was gone leaving me alone in my room to cry, to cry for Bridget and what she had done, what I had done to her.
As I heard her mother's voice ask her in the background, "Bridget, were you just using the phone? What did I say about using the phone?" I felt sorry for ever listening, ever listening to that terrible, eerie voice, because as the large whirlwind of screaming started, I couldn't forget any of the words. Any of the piercing, ear shattering words that her mother shouted halfway across the world. Then there was a soft click, following shortly after a giant rustle, and a prevailing bang. Just like that, all was gone leaving me alone in my room to cry, to cry for Bridget and what she had done, what I had done to her.
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Back at the funeral
Back at the funeral
"This is just life" said the evil woman standing behind the pedestal, the woman who said she was Bridget's mother. But I didn’t believe it, not for one second. Her guilty presence showed through her confidence, to me, to those sitting around me-- I hoped. But as I turned around to look at those sitting behind me, they were all weeping, wiping their eyes with small handkerchiefs and an assortment of Kleenex. I was alone, alone with no support, no where to go, and definitely no one else that knew the truth.
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The Next Week
I knew what I had to do. Somehow I just had to forget, forget about all that happened, wash Bridget complete from my memories, after all that's all she was now, just a bunch of memories and a metal box in the ground. Don't people die every day? Shouldn't it be easy to just forget, to not pay gratitude anymore? To take the memories and the images of her away and just move on? But no, it's not, I never realized just how hard it would be until the nightmare actually came true.
It is sad that life has to move on, move on without even a cry, without recognizing that anything ever happened. But I, unlike many weaker others will cry. I will cry until I have a solution to my problems, and if I have to cry for the rest of eternity I will do that because she was my friend, my best friend, Bridget Normandy.
That was really really sad, but it was really good too. I really liked the ending, and I think it would be really cool if you added on to it.
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