I wrote this story several months ago, and I just picked it up and read it a few days ago... and laughed my head off! It's supposed to be sad... yeah. So, if you think this is stupid and laugh, I feel the same way about it. I would still appreciate some helpful reviews though!

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R.I.P

Nancy Gahlan

1991-2008

Beloved Daughter and Sister

And the Best of Friends

The tears trickle down my face, flowing over my lips, down my chin and down my neck. They taste salty. They show how much I cared for her, how much I loved her and how much I will miss her. But if my feelings inside could be seen, they would show so much more.

They would show what it felt like when she went away and left me behind.

I stare at her name, tracing over the cold, smooth grooves with my fingertips. I try to remember her laughing mouth, her jet-black hair flying wild in the wind, the playful glint of her eyes as she turned to look at me. I can’t.

I can only see her blood, so dark and red and angry against her pale skin. A cry for vengeance.

I tried to stop it. Tried to staunch the blood pouring from the bullet hole in her chest. Tried to block out the smell of it, and the fact that with each beat of her heart, more poured through the cracks in between my fingers.

I tried to save her.

Images swim before my eyes. The man with the gun, as he pointed its ugly head at her and looked down the barrel. The surprise on her face as the bullet made contact. The look of shock when she saw the blood; her blood. Her body crumpling and falling onto the sidewalk beside my house. They all hurt.

But the most excruciating of all was the sight of her face slowly turning grey, her lips paling, her eyes fading and giving way to the pain and fear they held as she realized she was dying. The blood in between her lips.

I trembled at the sight of her, shocked beyond words as I held her in my arms. She was my best friend; I’d never been more afraid.

“Nancy?” I whispered, the truth seeping in through the cracks of my consciousness.

“Oh, Pete,” she gasped. “Do-do-don’t forget Pete,” she stuttered. I shook my head.

“I don’t understand!” I sobbed. She started to cry as well.

‘Pete, don’t forget about me. Promise you won’t forget me!” she demanded frantically.

“I promise,” I managed through my tears. “I won’t ever forget you, Nancy.”

She smiled softly though her tears, suddenly calm. I pulled her close and held her tightly, my back against the street lamp that shed its light over the sidewalk now stained a deep red. I could hear her struggling to breath through the blood in her mouth. I looked down at her, cementing in my mind her lovely, fading face.

My dying angel.

A sigh of resignation passed through her failing body, and she passed over into a world I could not enter.