I’m writing story, and I’d like to share some of it…here goes nothing:
“Someday, we’ll be angels, right now we should be human. Hurt and cracked but a beautiful flawed.” I mumble Haze’s words under my breath. Lance glances over at me.
“My best friend said that,” I say louder.
“What was she like?” He asks.
“She was broken, but she didn’t ever fix herself. She fixed everyone else, she didn’t believe in a happy endings or fairytales. She believed in making the best of reality, even though it is cruel and unjust. She liked indie rock, but not because she wanted to be different but because it spoke to her and told her stories.
She enjoyed philosophy and psychology, but didn’t believe in philosophers and psychologists, they were the evil strain who tried to structure and reason to human beings. Put science behind our actions. She used to say that the science of the human mind was created to make sense of things that weren’t supposed to make sense. She said people wanted categories to feel as if they belong somewhere, but really we all belong to each other and no one belongs in any one place.”
I stop and look over at him.
“How-how did she die?” He wondered.
“She got ran over. She ran out of life. Not because she wanted to or she wanted to be selfish. I don’t think she was selfish, no—she was just tired. She rested her eyes.”
“She committed suicide?”
“No, it was an accident.” I say.
“How is that so? You said she ran out of life; that she wanted to rest.”
I thought about it more. “Haze did want to die.” I say, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. The city lights blurred and my heart hurt. “Sometimes, accidents are more than they seem.”
Accident. Or maybe, a slight of footing because of a rash thought or a flashback. She had drunk too much at the house, her father should have locked the whiskey in a cabinet. She thought to see me, handed her father a note, and headed towards my house. He should have told her to stay home. She tripped into the road, and then….
As she thought,
as she cried,
as she begun to get back up,
She thought, ‘what is life?’
‘What does death feel like?’
The car came.
She looked death in the face and realized it wasn’t her time so she moved,
but she was gone.