Cottontail's Blog

Friday, May 16

So today we had an emergency assembly during homeroom… Mr. Edwards called the juniors together to tell us the most shocking thing I've ever heard in my life! Trish Duley committed suicide yesterday. I didn't believe it so I texted my mom and she wrote back saying that it was all over the morning news. Keesh was sobbing so hard, she had to call her stepdad to pick her up. I'm sooo upset. Trish was the nicest, prettiest girl in school and she just got Prom Queen for Heaven's sake! Ms. Alfheim said that we can use the period to write anything we'd like or that we don't have to do anything if we need the time to ourselves. She's so nice. I feel majorly bad for her, too, she looks absolutely awful, but of course Trish was one of her students!

Omigosh, I can't believe that Trish was unhappy at all! Meara says that she took pills and locked herself into her room and that her mother had to break the lock to get in! I hope her poor little brothers didn't see her dead. Trish was sooo popular, and all the boys were after her, and I was mad at her last week because she didn't IM me back but now that I know she was suicidal I am sorry I was ever mad! I wish I could go back and IM her about stuff, like real stuff like how she was feeling today and if she liked to sing in the shower because now we're totally never going to know. But she was President of the Optimist Club, and she was always smiling! Excuse me, God, but what the heck was going on with her all this time?

Even the bell sounds sad today!

Guffaw's Blog

Friday, May 16

Man, I don't feel like joking much today. I've been trying to figure out what I can do, but I think I'll talk to Blackfeather and see if there's a ritual that I can do for her. I can't believe it. I had a little crush on her freshman year.

Hardcover's Blog

Friday, May 16

I accidentally looked to my left, and there was Trish's empty computer, turned off and collecting dust. She was sitting here the last time we had English, typing steadily, although how she did so quickly with her beautifully long nails I suppose is a secret that… well, died with her.

I can't help feeling that this is all my fault, that I should have said something or offered my friendship long ago. She stood near me on the first day of Gym two years back. I should have said something when we were still all strangers and there were no walls between cliques, but she was so strikingly pretty I was cowed into holding my tongue for the first time in my life. I wonder if she was terribly lonely, if she cried at night or when she turned away to look out the window during class. Or maybe she was abused as a child and was hiding her pain in a beautiful shell which smiled and laughed a hollow little laugh on cue.

Oh god, I'm crying again. I just want to be home with my family.

WatchYourNeck's Blog

Friday, May 16

Okay, hold the fucking phone. What the hell happened to Miss Sunny Fricken Trish Duley? This girl was held in the freaking clouds by the pinky fingers of every poser who ever wished she was Trish. I mean, this blonde had a perfect body and decent grades and a little purse full of afterschool activities that matched each of her pukingly perfect outfits. Was this chick so seriously messed up on drugs that she OD'ed? Was she one of those damn people who read some dumb teen book and thought it would be so fucking poetic to "pass away" and have all her worshippers come to her funeral? Jesus, of all the people I thought were interesting and miserable in this school world I would have never guessed the popular girl.

I'm in my own little nail hell because I've gnawed off all my polish over this, I freaking have. What are people going to do? Who are the pathetic sheep going to follow now that their shepherdess has offed herself? Shit, I'm being awful. The girl was more fucked up than I am and I should let her be dead in peace.

Hacker's Blog

Friday, May 16

I am, as my sister would say, "in a turmoil". Here's my thought process (after I dealt with the awful news, of course): Trish, being a member of this class, probably kept a blog. I can't see her giving up a good grade because she didn't feel like keeping a graded journal. Now I have no idea how open kids are with their blogs, but let's suppose Trish has been pouring out her thoughts these past weeks. Here is a pure sample of her mindset before she committed suicide. What a ((i)you've got to excuse me, but I'm looking from a scientific, detached view(/i)) fascinating study her blog would be. Should I hack and give her entries to her mother? It could be comforting, or it could destroy her mom's life and make her feel guilty. So what's a guy to do? No matter what, I'm not going to read her blog. I could hack and print without reading.

Wait, thought process being interrupted. Ms. Alfheim (i)had(/i) to be reading Trish's blog. If there was something alarming in there, wouldn't she have reported it to the school psychologist? So it's probably just normal teen girl talk, and maybe her mother (u)would(/u) like it after all.

I think I'll set up a memorial on the website during Tech.

BabeRuth's Blog

Friday, May 16

Dude, I can't stay here right now. I'm going to go pick Maia up from daycare and go home, man.

Cadence's Blog

Friday, May 16

Yesterday the orthodontist filed my teeth without asking. I was horrified. I felt my front teeth made lovely little dips and curves, and was completely unnoticeable to anyone who wasn't in the habit of scrutinizing my smile. Plus the added despair of the withering of my identity as a unique individual. Obviously he filed them to stuff me closer into the box of normality that some of us are frantic to be kept out of, and never mind that hanging preposition because I mean this like I've never meant anything before. Leave us alone, world, we with the extra twinkle in our eye, the spring in our step, or those of us too desperately afraid to let us show. I saw beauty in a spider, yesterday. He clung to the edge of the driver's side's sunvisor. I rather wished I could stop driving long enough to watch him decide whether to build his silvery home on the edge of his world, or move on to a safer place, where maybe the view didn't change at every heartbeat. I hope he chose the dangerous one; I can't help but admire short lives full of—not glory, the word would tinge my sentiment—life, I suppose, the creatures who delight in every moment, the monks who make the sand paintings because they love the process of creating beauty, the people who spend every moment of an "idle hour" exploring their inner thoughts or appreciating the smell of the day or rejoicing in simply existing.