You can't admit it, but you know.

You know that someday, this big dream of yours will not become a reality. You know that someday, it will vanish in a puff of pink, purfumed smoke.

The world is not glitzy, and/or glamorous Maddie. You know, that some day, you're going to have to give up this little act and become the person you really are. The person you never wanted to be, but you always will be because it's been burned into you forever from the pitiful day you were born.

Those days, Maddie. What days? You might be asking. Those days, when we used to be friends, when we made mud pies, we built sandcastles, gigantic mounds of damp sand piled on top of each other where you used to insist on scattering it heavily with what had seemed to be a million shells, and we proclaimed we would live there when we got older. But the next day, it was gone.

Just like you, Maddie.

It was gone, why? It had been slowly eaten at, slowly eroded into the massive sea, where it would join all the other little sand particles at the bottom of the ocean. That was you, Maddie, you were one of those little particles of sand, swept away by something which looked so big, and alluring, so mysterious, yet it was something everyone wanted to be part of, no matter whether anyone wanted to admit it.

It got to your head, you became one of them. Your head almost burst. I invited you over to my place for what I knew would be the last time I would have you there. You came, out of politeness, but I knew you didn't enjoy yourself anymore. You sat on the bed, head leaning on one hand, which was propped up with your elbow. Occasionally looking at your watch desperately. You thought I didn't notice? God Maddie, you've become so predictable.

It got to your head, Madeleine, it got to your head like it never had to anyone else. It was extreme, you know that? Pressure does dramatic things to you when placed in the right position. It pressured you, like a can of deodorant, kept spraying, and spraying, till when you're finished with it, you can't spray it anymore. It's just too hard. And you know where you put empty deodorant cans, don't you, Madeleine? Yeah, in the garbage. You sprayed and sprayed, sprayed till you couldn't anymore. You tried, didn't you? You tried to prolong yourself, so you wouldn't get wasted.

Maddie. My old nickname for you. Sounds so personal, so friendly, sounds sunny. Like you had been. Like I had known you for years. I had, Madeleine, but then, in a timespan of a week, I didn't anymore. You went there, and you let them use your nickname, they didn't know you, Madeleine, but they didn't care. You cared, didn't you? You cared if they cared. And they didn't. You knew that all along. But you didn't want to believe it. That was what broke you.

I'm sorry you died, Madeleine. But to be honest with you, I don't care as much as I would've if this had happened last year. You had meant so much to me. But you changed, you acted differently, and I wasn't sure I liked that new 'Maddie'.

Suicide's a weak option, you know. It's for people who have absolutely no escape. You? You had so many exit doors, you just refused to look at them. And to do it in your sleep?

And I thought you had a spine.

Maybe this is for the better. Call me cruel for saying this about you, but everything happens for a reason. It's made everyone at school think, Madeleine. You always made people think. That was one of your better traits.

You're gone, but there's no hole in me, like I thought there would be. I tried to make one, but it just didn't work.

So now I'm here, on the very same beach, building a sandcastle at high tide. It's almost like therapy. As I finish, I back away, watching as the ever-rising water begins to seep into the honey-coloured monument. It begins to crumble, I watch as half of it collapses, and washes out into the sea. Another wave crashes in, it erodes the rest and layers begin to wash away. I turn to leave, but I turn around again and a small smile creeps it's way up into my face.
Where the sandcastle had stood two minutes ago, a small lump of sand had replaced it. And on top of the lump, the sea had placed a small, pearly pink shell.

You shouldn't lose faith, Madeleine. Thanks for reminding me.

A/N Ahhh yes. Another one of those impulse stories. What did you think?

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