The ArtistMature

Dead lips whisper a broken promise; they run, coming for you.

She stared down, watching the eyes. They were so cold, so unforgiving, so… still. It couldn't be. But no, her lips are moving. They whisper to her, whisper that she broke her promise. She promised her safety, she promised to be a best friend. Where did that get her? Don't tell me she's dead…

She leaned down, brushing hair away from her face. She closed those eyes, those glossy, staring eyes, shivering at the feel of the cold skin.

She gathered her best friend in her arms, shaking with regret. She couldn't turn away, because otherwise she would be gone forever. She couldn't stand that.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered into the mess of hair. Her eyes closed tightly, trying to hold in her tears, but it was no use. They filled up her eyes and fell, rolling like liquid crystals down her cheeks. She lowered the body to the ground and walked away, backwards. Her eyes were trained on her friend as she tried to open the door. Once she was out, she closed it and ran. Looking over her shoulders, realizing that they would be there soon. She couldn't be there.

And so, she left her best friend behind her, the way she died when she'd put the knife in her back.

The End

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