Clover was at the end of her rope, ready to snap. For weeks, she'd been in the dark concerning her best friend's - Prue (short for Prudence) - life, the things that were happening to her. Prue was getting thinner and thinner in the most unhealthy way, with paling skin and sunken eyes. The last time Clover had seen Prudence, which was getting to be almost a week now, she looked strung out with wild eyes and a clenched jaw.

And at that moment, she had no idea where Prue was, or if she was alright. Almost a year before, the two of them had come to an agreement to rent out and share an apartment together to save money and make things easier on the both of them and their families. Or, in Prue's case, get away from her family.

Clover was no idiot - she knew something had gone wrong sometime during Prue's childhood, but it wasn't as if the dark haired, green eyed eighteen year old was going to admit to it, or even talk about it. Clover knew she was too proud; too intent on fooling the world that there was nothing wrong with her, the girl who always stood strong and tall.

"What a fat load of bullshit," Clover muttered, arms folded and legs bent. She leaned on the left side of her chair as she sat facing the apartment door, wishing Prue would walk through at any second. Clover knew that if Prue did in fact walk through at any given moment, she'd get the living shit scared out of her, but that wouldn't matter when the time came. "She's probably coked out, or something, living it up in somebody's fucking basement, not giving a damn about me."

Clover wasn't about to admit to herself that she was frustrated and worried, but she was. Even though she rarely thought such, Clover and Prue were best friends. Or, at least, they had been at some point. Before Prue began to suddenly...change.

"Fuck!" Clover grabbed a glass and threw it as hard as she could at the perfectly durable wooden door. After the first three weeks, she'd been on edge, fearing she would suddenly have to pay the full rent sometime in the next month because Prue had long forgotten her. But, the land manager had yet to show up and Clover feared the day he did.

She often rationalized to herself, "If Prue would have opted out of this apartment deal, she would have done it from the start. She wouldn't be paying her half, still, if she didn't plan on staying here...if she didn't plan on coming back home." But it did nothing to calm her frayed nerves.

Clover couldn't remember the last time the two of them had actually spent a night together. God, she knew she was acting as if the two of them were a serious, steady couple, but wasn't that what they basically were? They didn't love each other or have any feelings for each other beyond friendship, and they had never once had a physical moment, but they were still best friends. They were supposed to have their nights together, just like couples were.

She stared at the pieces of glass laying just beneath the door, arranged in an almost beautiful manner, partially running her hand through her very-white blond hair. Her nails no longer donned their usual black nail-polish, having long since been scratched off in one of Clover's nervous fits. The bracelets that had once been prominent around her wrists now collected dust on her dresser, along with the rest of her jewelry, such as necklaces, rings, and earrings.

In the time that Prue had descended into what she was now, Clover had followed down the same path in a different manner. Her looks diminished from their usual well-kept glow to what she now saw in the mirror: gray skin, blood-shot eyes, white lips.

Clover felt dead; feeling neglected, forgotten, and lonely.

She wanted to do something, write a note telling Prue everything that was going on, going wrong, but she hadn't the nerve to do so - or the words.

But she kept remembering the last time they had seen each other. Clover was on the couch, watching a television show she couldn't remember the name of. Prue had walked through the door, looking more exhausted than ever before, then turned off the television without a word. After a moment of staring at the blank screen, she set down her bag and walked into the kitchen, ignoring Clover's "Hello," and complaints over the TV.

Clover couldn't get over it. The last time the two of them had been in the same room together, Prue had completed ignored her, not even a glance of acknowledgement passed from Prue to the other. It infuriated her to no end, knowing how nonchalant and dismissive Prue could be about someone. Especially someone who meant so much to her, had done so much for her friendship.

Suddenly, the door opened with a loud grinding sound and the jingling of keys.

Finally, Clover thought after a slight jump, she's home. Smiling, Clover stood up and watched Prue carry in an empty box and toss the set of keys onto a wooden table beside the door.

"Prue!" Clover spoke, the enthusiam in her voice strained and entirely too prominent. "The door's still open - what's the box for?"

Again, Prue ignored her and brushed past Clover without a word, carrying the box in her pale hands.

Clover could hear the sound of other people walking down the outside hallway in the direction of their doorway, and called down the inner hall towards her friend. "Are we having company tonight? I don't think we have any food left, you know, so I'll just order two pizzas, kay?"

Clover ignored the silence and walked towards the phone, also sitting on the wooden table as the set of keys. Just as she picked up the phone and began dialing, she heard footsteps from behind her and turned around.

Prue had walked back into the room, the box now filled with items from her very own room. Her CD's, her favorite jeans, her journals, even her toothbrush and hairbrush was in the box.

"Hey..." Clover said, cautiously, "what are you doing with my stuff?"

Clover set the phone down, slowly, watching as her friend set the box down on the living room table. She walked up behind her friend and watched Prue sort through the things in a melancholy manner.

"You know," Clover started, beginning to become frustrated, angry, and upset all at once, "if this is your way of kicking me out of the apartment, you could at least say so."

When Prudence said nothing, Clover's frustration became slight rage and she walked around to face Prue. "I thought you of all people had the fucking guts to ta-- Are...are you crying?"

In all the five years she had known Prue, Clover had never seen her cry. She was always the stoic one, with the reserved, solitary personality and quiet mind. Never angry, never upset, never overflowing with joy, never excited...just...calm. She never cried.

"Why are you crying?"

Clover didn't understand, didn't understand in the slightest bit, in anyway. If Prue wanted her to move out, why would she cry? Why wouldn't Prue just say so? Clover would do it, if Prue wanted to have the place to herself, a home of her very own without some seventeen year old girl taking up space. Clover would understand.

But...why was she crying?

"God fucking damnit, Clove," Prue said, suddenly. The tears were flowing more freely, more loosely. "I told you that your mouth would get you in trouble, one day. And look at you, now. It took weeks, for them. Weeks!"

"W-what?" Clover was confused, flabbergasted, stumped. She had no fucking idea what the hell Prue was talking about. "Are you saying that I'm being kicked out because of my big mouth?""Is that her stuff?"

Clover turned around to see a tall, platinum blond man standing just a few feet inside the doorway. Behind him was Clover's long-term boyfriend, Aiden, looking very grief-stricken. She had forgotten all about him! With a small laugh of joy, she leapt over to hug him, expecting the action to be returned; but he didn't even look at her. And when he turned his gaze from the tall man to Prue...

...He seemed to almost look right through her, like she wasn't even there.

She heard Prue reply behind her, "Not all of it, just the stuff that I want to put on display."

Display? What?

"Can we go, now?" Aiden voice was hard, almost angry. "I don't want to be here, I never want to come back here. Not ever."

That hurt Clover. It stung inside her heart, taking the air out of her lungs, tying what felt like an irreverseable knot in her stomach.

Prue, however, seemed to reprocate Aiden's feelings and nodded in the same fashion that he spoke. "I understand." Clover turned to watch Prue as she lifted the box once more, the blond man standing closely behind her.

Clover strained to remember if she knew him...was that the boyfriend Prue had been talking about a few months ago? What was his name? Baron...Brian...Brandon...Brad! That's what it was, Brad. Now she remembered. Prue had met him at a motorcycle repair shop while she visited her younger brother and they had compared bikes. Then, later that same day, they had gone to the same laundromat and continued talking, and it had blossomed into a relationship.

How had she forgotten?

That probably explained her frequent absenses, Clover reasoned, and why she's so skinny now. She probably tried to lose weight to impress him, Clover told herself, instantly forming a grudge on the tall man; though she had to admit he was quite handsome, just as she remembered Prue had admited that Aiden had some likeable features of his own.

"But trust me, Brad," Prue continued, turning around and looking straight through Clover and into Aiden's eyes, "the bastard will pay for what he did to her."

Wait...what?

Who will pay for what he did to who? What did he do? Clover felt like she should have known what they were talking about, understood what they meant.

"Let's go," Brad said, softly, but firmly. "We're done here for the day."

"You go on ahead," Prue urged, letting Brad take the box off her hands. "I'm going to post the funeral and visitation information on our--the apartment door, in case anyone drops by."

With a nod, both Brad and Aiden left the apartment, watched by Clover and Prue.

Clover turned and became frantic. What was going on?

Clover followed Prue as she went into another room and grabbed a pen and paper, screaming at her. "What the fuck are you talking about? What's going on? Who's funeral? Who died? Why the fuck aren't you talking to me? Please, just fucking talk to me, that's all I fucking want!" Even as Prue was bent over the paper, writing down some numbers and some letters, she yelled.

"You always did tell me I'd end up alone," Prue murmured, so quiet that Clover almost didn't hear. "I just didn't think you meant it'd be this soon. Or that you would leave."

Clover stopped in her tracks as Prue kept walking to the doorway. "I didn't leave, though..." Clover said slowly, her mind clouded and confused.

Prue picked up her keys off the table and plucked a roll of tape out of a basket resting on the floor under the table. She taped the piece of paper on the outside of the door and wiped away another tear, choking on another silent sob.

Clover hurried to the door before Prue closed it and read the paper.

"For funeral and visitation times and dates of Clover Crist,
call the funeral home at 472-013-0586,
or Prue Torasova at 573-925-0276.
Thank you,
PT"

Clover turned her head to look at Prue and was startled to see her looking straight into her eyes, but with blank concentration. Her knees felt weak, like jelly, and she leaned on the wall, her heart feeling like lead and her lungs filled with water. "I'm not dead," Clover whispered, staring straight into her own reflection in another mirror, gray and lifeless... "I'm still alive."

Clover watched as Prue's hand reached up and passed right through her, and turned off the apartment light, and whispered, "I miss you already, Clover..." Clover felt her eyes start watering and she could feel the tears slide down her cheek. Her heart wasn't beating and she wasn't breathing and she couldn't feel anything and she couldn't do anything...as Prue closed the door one last time.

this is so different from what i usually write, it's insane.

but i'm really proud of it and i hope you all like this or think it's interesting.
(and in case it was unclear...clover was dead and a ghost. she had been missing for weeks, dead for however long you imagined her to be.)

-it's not your fault.