The In-BetweenMature

A sixteen year old boy murdered, the girl he loves, the friend he fought everything with, and everyone who even cared for him has their toll on his murder.

My name is Andy Bare. I am sixteen and I was murdered. It was well planned and longing by my murderer. But to think when I was at my best point in my life, it’s taken completely away from me. My parents, though not my murderers, benefited from my death. They’re both addicted to alcohol and drugs. I was lucky to get by when I met my girlfriend for the first time when we were thirteen. Her name is Jamie. She is the one I miss the most. But how my parents benefited from my murder was that the public would send them money, donated for my funeral, but for them, they used it as money for marijuana and whiskey. They benefited but no one else did except for my murderer of course. If they didn’t have a benefit then I would still be alive and with my savior, Jamie.

I watch her brush her brown chocolate hair that came very shy to her shoulders and wipe away her morning grief before she went to school. If I could do anything, I would tell how much Jamie meant to me. It was hard for her to accept my death. Believe it or not, it was hard for my parents too. Because of my death it got them on the drugs. It wasn’t even a year yet, and my Jamie is suffering the major impact of death. She had never had a family member die in her lifetime so for her to be sixteen and have a very first death so close to her, I can imagine it hurts her. Where am I?

I am in-between. I’m in the realm where it is not heaven, but not earth. When the people who love me who are not letting go and not passing on, I’m not in peace. It’s like watching a crying child behind a glass wall. You can’t leave it to suffer so you stay with it. But you miss out on heaven when you stay with the child. Jamie, mom, dad, Oscar, and Riley, choose to not let go and accept my death. It saddens me to see how all their heartache interferes with their everyday lives.

Jamie went to school walking alone. I would walk with her…everyday, even when I was sick I walked with her and went back home. Her hand went aimlessly beside her…wishing she had my hand to hold. She was the reason I was murdered. My murderer wanted her. But he knew I would never leave her. He murdered me for my lovely Jamie. Jamie, you are in danger. I hope to God you are aware of this. I’ll do everything I can in my spirit to make sure you won’t die by the hands of this…this heartless bastard. I walked with her, if she chose to see me she could. I’m radiating enough energy for her to sense it but if she doesn’t choose to see me, she won’t.

Death really doesn’t separate people, people choose to be separated, and death is just something believed to forget they had someone to promises themselves to. Some individuals don’t let go, or they do and keep a loving memory, but others take it as a positive.

Jamie still continued her walk but she and I went early because we would sit on this ledge of stone together. She sat down and gazed to her feet.

“Andy…” she breathed.

I began to cry in front of her. To hold her delicate hand and shout to her, I love her. I knelt down beside her, longing to comfort her, I reached for the side of her head but even though I feel her, she doesn’t feel me. Her warmth she generates, it’s irreplaceable.

For years, Jamie and I cried together, and it still lives on to know no one gives a damn about us. I tried my hardest to look into her brown eyes and to gaze for eternity into them, for I would give anything for one time.

“Andy…I miss you so much. I hope you hear me…even I know how much you would like to hear me babble, and I miss you telling me everything would be alright. Even though…” she stammered with tears drying out her throat. “Even though…we both never knew if everything was.” She clenched the edges of her long black sleeves in-between her fingers and her palms, wiped her face from the stinging tears, and sobbed.

To see her cry like this in front of me, and for me to not do anything about it, it was hurting me more. How dare my murderer cause this girl so much pain? How dare he put my friends and parents through so much trouble? How can he live with himself for making Jamie cry?

I know I didn’t want them to let me go but, if it caused them pain, I would rather be at peace knowing they are coping.

I love you Jamie. I choose not to speak, there was no point… if she can’t see me… she won’t hear me. Jamie, why are you so in love with me? I have always wondered why you do. I have such complications with other people who blame me for making the world dark. But it is them who make fun of innocence, and what people think and do without any bother to them. They never liked us because of our tastes but why can’t we have just blamed them for what they have done? For keeping you in misery over me. You can move on to a living, breathing guy who will love you as much as I do. Maybe more…

Jamie saved me from many things people try to get addicted to. I can see inside her mind. Her though process; she thinks that she built me up like a builder working on one of the twin towers and then to see it crumble into nothing. She saw me crumble at no mercy of my killer. She saw nothing of me anymore.

How Jamie dressed at my funeral was breath-takingly beautiful. For her to dress nicely on one day, it had to be my funeral. Her black dress was full length and her black veil was see through with a black rose pattern and it draped over her face and her brown hair. It hid some of her tears and her black make-up forking down her cheeks. When I saw her at my funeral, I cried with the people who wouldn’t let go and those who did. My murderer was there. Saying how he was so dismayed how he lost me to my true family.

Showing no grief for this insanity, he would bend his head down and smirk accepting he won Jamie over. In his mind if Jamie was ever alone he would pick the perfect time to take her away.

The funeral was devastating to watch. Coursing my way around sobbing people there was some people I recognized from school, Ms. Andrews, Mr. Laney, and Mr. Evans. My three favorite teachers who were the ones who helped me very greatly came. There was even a little who came. She knew me because I got her help from her teacher’s abuse; her name is Anne. I couldn’t help but cry to know that even in death, they still loved me. To walk pass my murderer was boiling my veins when I saw the sight of him. Then when my eyes caught Jamie being comforted by my grandmother I wanted to dash to her and engulf her in my arms. To hold her one more time but when I was about to knock her down, it hit me so hard. I passed right through her body. I fell to the ground behind her and she felt a chill and shivered. I fixed my legs to where my knees were bent to the ground and I hunched over pounding the ground over and over with both my fists  cursing at the ground and weeping from the reminder I was dead. They think I’m gone but I’m very much here in their presence, but a good word was ‘dead’ not ‘gone’.  Then I see my murderer there….comforting her and hugging her. His smile grew sinister from just embracing her. He is sick, twisted, and it was a murder I never expected to happen. No one did.

Jamie got to her feet and began walking again to school. I was right by her side until she was safe inside school where no one could take her away from security. I would never, not even in death, let Jamie ever be hurt by anyone. Especiallyhim.I looked over my shoulder and took a glance of his vehicle. That same vehicle he killed me in, the vehicle he drove my body to the creek three miles away from the school, the vehicle was white and crappy Toyota with blacked-out windows, (though it wasn’t so crappy to keep my body inside of the trunk to the dumpsite). From memory, the inside of the car was pale blue and a patted trunk he made to put bodies in alive so if he actually got Jamie in his possession and he wanted to keep her from the world and if anyone was in the car and if she screamed no one would hear her muffled cries for desperate help to escape.

How do I know this?

He told me himself. As he was about to continue stabbing me with a pocket knife he kept hidden from public eyes he explained what he was going to do with Jamie. His words were killing me more than his knife.


Back at home I see mom and dad screaming at each other.

“What was he doing out in the first place?” dad yelled.

“I dunno why. I think he was with Jamie.” Mom tried to explain.

“You think someone connected to her could have killed Andy?” Dad asked.

“I don’t have all the answers to Andy’s death!” mom cried. She went to my room, locked the door, sat on the bed’s edge, snatched the injector and placed in the middle of her inside elbow and she went limp.

“Open up, Sue!” dad screamed on the outside hall. I steadily walked over to mom’s body. I held her face in my hands while her head still laid on my black pillow. I hated seeing her like this.

“Sue!” dad screamed. “I already lost Andy, I can’t lose you too.”

Mom, if only you know, I was here. Don’t you want to see me? If you want to all you have to is admit to wanting to see me and I’ll appear for you. I never want to see you this way if you hurt yourself. I know I’ve disappointed you very much through my life but I need you to know that you don’t need to make my mistakes.

Her blue eyes were closed and she faintly whispers, “How can I forgive myself?”

My faced burned as salty tears escaped my eyes. She had been a drunk before an addict. When I was younger, and she was drunk at ten in the morning, I was trying to throw away and discard the alcohol from our house from her. But it would only make her mad. She was more addicted to alcohol than the drugs. Drinking made her more violent. Drugs, in my situation, she used to experience what I and Oscar went through. We had it bad with drunk parents. The violence…

“Don’t you ever touch that bottle again! Do you hear me?” mom screamed at me. I held up my tiny fists to my face to brace myself for her blow. Her balled up hands punched me on the sides of my head and my forehead and eyes. I knelt begging the woman to stop. This is not my beautiful natured mother; this is not my wonderful, bubbly, mom. This was her drunk side.

“Stop! Mommy please stop! I only tried to help you! Make it go away!!!” I screamed. It would sometimes help if I said ‘Make it go away.’ because it triggered something in her, her normal side, and she hated for being what she had in her. She would try to fix up my face after a beating, but her guilt was always with her. She dotted my face with peroxide which stung with cool dabs of liquid.

I was just eight years old.

The End

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