My friend, Elizabeth James, wrote this story. She saw that I post some of my stories on and asked me to post this one. She’s the one that got me into writing, so you know she’s really good.

I think I should clear a couple of things up before you read it. The girl goes to a private school. Her friends go to a public school. She’s visiting her friends at the public school at lunch. Anything after that is at her private school.

She left for the bus stop, but she didn’t wait for the bus.

She went down a little further to the MAT bus stop, and when the bus came, boarded it.

She pulled the string when it got to the high school.

When she got there the bell had already rung, the halls were empty except for a few students making their way to class. They didn’t seem to notice the strange girl in the hallway. When she got to the French room she stopped, eyes intent on the door, and cried. She sat in the library until lunch; the librarian didn’t notice her hidden behind a bookshelf.

When the lunch bell rang she had already changed, and with a five dollar bill in her pocket, went off to the cafeteria. Once there she saw her table.

She noticed Mel first, then Andrew, Ben, Stacey, and Christine. They didn’t see her walking up to them until she was at the table.

“What are you doing here?” Mel asked her.

“Eating lunch,” she said, setting down her tray.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” Stacey asked her.

“Yeah,” she said, taking a bite.

She was there once a week for the next month, then after that she went more.

Every day she called the school after lunch and told them that she was sick, pretending to be her mother.

When her mom found out one day she screamed.

“What do you think you are doing? Do you think that you could get away with something like this? What have you done to yourself? Your grades are dropping, the school is worried, and I am worried! You have embarrassed me in front of the whole school, and your father to! Do you not care about your education, your future?

She looked hard at her daughter, the more silent moments passing, the angrier she got.

“Go to our room, I don’t want to look at you.”

The girl got up and walked upstairs.

She went to Mercy the next day, skipped two of her classes and sat in the library, writing.

I was always so strong. I felt it in me, that strength. Never has it faltered, or weakened.

Until now.

My soul has become weak, my body drowning in tears not meant for me to drown in. And my life has become unbearable, unlivable.

They know how much I love them. I told them that last lunch I spent with them.

“No matter what happens to me, or to you, I want you to know how much I love you, how much you mean to me. Thank you for saving me.”

Those lunches were not enough. I need to be with them every day of my life. And I can do that now.

My heart bleeds all day, and the blood is being force-fed to me. I can feel it rising into my head, then slipping slowly down my lungs. The taste it leaves on me is bitter, so bitter it hurts to breathe.

This school has ruined me, so in the privacy of its little library I will ruin it, my last breaths forever sending a vibe from the chair I last sat in.

And with this bottle, I take my life in my hands and beg God for mercy.

Have pity on your servant, oh Lord, for I love Thee, and can bear no more to be upon this earth, but instead ask You for Your hand, to guide me to Your heavenly kingdom so that I may serve You by Your side.

With that her hand reached into the bottle and with a handful of pills came out. Turning away from the desk she took them all, one at a time until she lost count.

Soon after Sister Linda saw her lying on the floor, a bottle a few inches from her hand.

“Someone call an ambulance, quick!”

A cell phone was taken out of someone’s purse and the number dialed. Another ran down to get Sister Anne, who came running.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, I looked over and she was on the floor, this was next to her.” The sister showed the bottle and the principal nodded. The nurse was there next, and she sat the girl up and tried to help her.

“What’s her name?”

“Emily, Emily Brown. She has an F study in here.”

There were words in there that were said, but never remembered, words that mingled with the anxiety of waiting.

Jen walked in and froze. She knew what was happening. She had known for a while. Jen could see it in her eyes when she was at school, the pain that she couldn’t fix.

Her eyes watered and she had to lean on the counter.

Time passed, no one knew how much, before the ambulance came. The stretcher came in, the paramedics came in, and everyone watched silently.

Jen dropped her books and walked over to them, hoping to see her friend.

She looked dead. No smile on her face, her eyes shut.

Her eyes traced the paramedics face.

Then she turned to see her notebook open on the table.