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are you upset?
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[[Sierra Manning continued from It's hard to walk tall when you're small]]

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry.

Unheard words that danced on her lips, a recurring confession her larynx didn’t dare repeat. It’d be true. If she could hear it, it’d be true and he’d be gone. She’d be too late and he’d be gone and she’d never see him again, never hold his hand again, never hug him again, never kiss him again, never talk to him again.

He was gone.

He was gone and she never even got to say good-bye, or tell him how much she loved him. No last words, no warning, no closure. Just gone. Just another name on a list, a name done in by an ‘act of justice’. A besmirched name. The name of a killer.

But he was so much more than that, so much more than people gave him credit for. He was so sweet, sweeter then he liked to admit. ‘Guys aren’t supposed to be ‘sweet’’ he’d say, but she’d tell him that was her favorite thing about him, he’d laugh it off but she knew how much it meant to him. He knew he always had her in his corner, she’d always have his back and she knew that meant the world to him. Or at least that’s what he thought.

What killed her most was knowing that she had doubted him, thought him to be the killer the announcements claimed he was. Immediately she doubted him, taking the first chance she had to think the worst. She didn’t know if it was an accident or what, but she should’ve believed in him. Maybe if she had, things would’ve ended differently.

Anything could have happened.

“I’m tho—“ She choked on her words, desperate sobs colliding against her fever-enhanced gag reflex leading way to a series of dry heaves. She buried her head into her knees, the warmth of her face breaking through even the thick denim of her jeans. The throbbing in her head was welcomed, she relished it, let it take over for pain that had latched around her heart.

Take anything, whatever you want, but please God give her back her Omar.

She emptied the recesses of her mind, trying desperately to cling to her memories. How did his laugh sound? His voice? How did he smell, feel? It was as if her brain had been wiped clean, barely able to remember the things about him that made her love him. Taken from her, just ripped from her. Why couldn’t she remember? More than anything, she wanted to remember him, but everything was gone.

Her nails burrowed into the bare flesh on her ankles, sparks of pain running up her back. She wished the ground would open up and swallow her, wished that she’d jumped back then, wished that people who wanted to live could take her spot, but why would God make it easy now?

Part of her wondered if this was her punishment. If her penalty for her over-dependence was the loss of everything she loved.

The other part reprimanded her. She was just a selfish, whiny brat. Other kids were losing their lives, kids who would’ve done something with their lives. Why couldn’t she just deal with it, be glad that she was alive?

Why couldn’t she be better?

Noxious cigarette odor etched into her nostrils, a pied piper luring her out from the depth of her shell. She hadn’t even realized Josie had left, didn’t realize the warmth had left.


She was glad. Josie would be better off without her, she’d be able to get off the island if she didn’t have to drag along dead weight.


Ignore her, don’t come back. Stop being scared, Sierra, stop expecting people to carry you through life.
You’re a waste of space.
Just die already.

“Jothie, wh-where are you!?”

She hated herself.
Edited by Mimi, Nov 30 2010, 10:13 PM.

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