It all happened so suddenly. One moment I was sitting in the school library, leading the group project about a book we read for lit class, when the usually quiet Sophie piped up: “Ugh, I’m so glad Oscar died. Honestly, he was so useless.” Time stops. My blood freezes in my veins, my lungs forget they need oxygen to function, and I swear my heart stops for a second. I blink, slowly at first and then rapidly, as if my flickering eyelids would stop the pain that starts rushing in upon hearing the name, especially in that context. I can see it all playing in my mind, scratchy and blurry like on an old wooden-framed TV, but I can still see it, which is stupid, judging by the fact I wasn’t even there that day. Adding to that, we were just kids. That doesn’t make it hurt less. I grip onto the tacky blue couch, digging my nails into the cushions, trying to shake the feeling of nausea rising inside me. Even though I didn’t like the character in the book, I still try to defend him. “He was doing what he thought was best for his family…” I start, half-heartedly. “Oh, please, you don’t even believe that yourself! He pushed the main character out of the car, basically leaving her for dead!” Lynn says, rolling her eyes at my oh-so-stupid statement. “He was protecting his sister!” I bite back. I cross my arms over my white shirt, thinking it’s so stupid we have to wear warm uniforms like this in summer, trying to think about everything except what happened that summer, and how Oscar would probably give anything to wear one of these stupid uniforms now. Hell, how I would give anything for him to be alive. My mind wanders to a time when him and I would play together when we were kids, carefree and happy, those days seemingly aeons away. I can’t even remember the last time I played with him… I remember our moms being best friends, dinners with joint families, his little sister, born just before he died… now, I can’t even remember his sister’s name. Only his. It’s always there. Always: “it should have been you in a freak accident”, and that’s stupid really, because I know it’s not my fault; I wasn’t even close to where it happened, but I still feel guilty. I feel even worse about the memories slipping away, in not being able to remember what was just a dream, a life where my best friend survived. I wonder if he’d like me today, with long dark hair and matching eyes, with a shy, quiet laugh and an insecure smile, when he only knew light hair, sparkling eyes, and high giggles with huge grins that would still be around but must have died with him. I can’t stop myself anymore; I unhook my nails from the now-torn blue fake leather before running to the bathroom, where I break down in messy, ugly tears as I lean against the cool tile wall, wondering if it all would be different today if he had made it.

Note: ummmmm… not sure what I think of this.

This actually happened to me so I majorly overthought posting this, so please tell me if you liked it :)