Part oneMature

a story of love, suicide, and will to live.

Alis volat propriis

Chapter one- eulogy

                        I stood upon the podium with tears in my eyes. My arms were shaking. My legs were jel-o. The podium swayed back and forth as the crowd came in and out of focus. I gathered up all the courage I could, and let a few sobs escape through my open mouth.

                        “In the coffin beside me,” I began. “Is the best friend I’ve ever had. My name is Seth Benson, and she knew me. I’m sure she would’ve liked to meet you as well. Everyone, may I introduce you to Aryanna Renae Fisher.”


                        I awoke with a start. It was another dream about her. It was another restless night after I awoke. It was another sunny morning.

                        It was another yellow bus with another male driver taking us on yet another route to the same school, where yet another substitute teacher awaited my second bell class with another lesson plan that nobody’s going to understand.

                        Of course, the day is but one big organized schedule. My favorite part: lunch with Aryanna.

                        Aryanna is the best friend anybody could ask for, and the most gorgeous girl in the world. I would die to save a friend, but I’d burn in hell for her. For her, I’d take torture.

                        I met her nearly two months ago at the beginning of freshman year. She’s made high school less difficult. She makes everything so easy. I can tell her everything, I HAVE told her everything. She’s done the same with me.

                        I know about her cutting, her tendency to want to end her own life, and the videos she watches to try to get sick, videos of people getting giant cysts removed. I seriously never wanted that image in my head.

                        In turn, she knows about my cutting, my tendency to want to end my own life, and the fact that I am severely and irrevocably in love with her.

                        People think I know so much about her, but the truth is, I feel so ashamed. There’s a distinct possibility that one of us could end up leaving the other, somehow, whether by death or hate. Or maybe love. I don’t know. I just know that I never want to forget her. I want to memorize her. I want to know the exact shape and color of her eyes, every fluctuation of her voice. Every fluctuation of her beautiful voice, a voice I want to echo in my head for the rest of eternity.

                        So when lunch comes around, I sit across the table from her, and look deep into her eyes as I speak.

                        “This will sound a little strange,” I begin, “but could you just talk for a few minutes.”

                        And she does.

                        And I listen

                        And I reach into the depths of joy.

                        Until she brings up what happened last night.

                        “He did WHAT?” I ask, outraged.

                        “He beat the shit out of DJ,” she replied.

                        “Did he deserve it?” I inquire, somewhat without tact.

                        “Does it matter? He’s only nine years old. Who would deserve getting their face kicked in at nine years old?”

                        In the calmest manner I could possibly pull off, I began my next sentence.

                        “So you’re telling me that your father thinks he’s so much of a man that he can beat the shit out of your little brother without facing consequences?”

                        “That’s pretty much it.”

                        “Let’s prove him wrong.”

                        “Seth, wait. You know what happened last time. You know how HE can get.”

                        “He needs to learn some respect…”


                        The edge in her voice stopped me cold.

                        “Do you remember last time, Seth?” she asked.

                        I do.

                        “Remind me,” I replied. I enjoy the sound of her voice a little too much.

                        “You remember,” she said with a sigh.


                        Her laugh brightened up my entire day, and as I lay in bed, I’m reminded of the day something else she did made an impact that she never even  knew about.


                        And so it came to pass within the band room that has so comfortably begun to become our home, that me and Aryanna were within a group of friends playing a spin the bottle/truth or dare mixture. I know. Childish.

                        I had been dared to kiss someone in the group, anybody. Again. Childish.

                        Aryanna was right next to me.

                        I leaned in.

                        She leaned in.

                        We kissed.

                        I knew she wasn’t mine.

                        I know she never will be.

                        I went home.

                        I went home and lay three red stripes upon my wrist.

The End

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