She's a Bad Friend and a Horrible Lover
(why best friends shouldn't fall in love.)
The courtyard is empty, except for Sunday and me. Basketballs lays placidly across the floor, and I see pink-chalk writing imprinted in the sidewalk: Allister & Roxanne, forever and ever. There's no heart, and I almost laugh, because when you love someone, don't you draw a heart? Pulling the cigarette between my fingers, I draw a heart with the smoke from my "cancer stick" as it bleeds into the asphalt. Sunday laughs beside me, her lips curling between her teeth and my heart begins to skip a beat, pushing its way through my skin.
"Aren't you a romantic." Her hands smoothly brush against my picture, her knees squished together, and she won't stop fucking smiling, her eyebrows raised in surprise, and happiness.
"I just thought it looked empty," I whisper. My face burns up with a blush, because she's too close and I curve my skull to the dirty swing set, the wind screaming as the metal rust. One day, I swear, those things are gonna break, and I hope no kids on them. One death is a tragedy, such a tragedy.
I gulp down, the nervousness crashing between my Adam's apple, and the pains slices through me. Those cigarettes are going to be the death of me, I know it.
"You know, I always had a crush on you, for a long time. I did the same thing when I was 15, 'cept there was no: forever & ever. You taught me better." The hot sun rays crawl into my skin, leaving blistering monster as my skin burst with a ruby red, and I adjust my blue hat, slithering across my dyed blond curls.
"Yeah. I taught you better, but it didn't seem to work that well. Your emotions still get the best of you Alice." Sunday nods her head, rose petals swerved across her smooth tan fingers, and I hear wings flapping above me, a helicopter. It makes me wince, blinking back the tears, because it makes me think she's going to fly away from me, any second. She's an angel like that, her halo smeared through her electric blue hair and her black dress flowing across her proclaim bones, her wings streaking her a species higher then humanity. "A crush is called a crush for a reason, you know." She grins at me, her lips smoking with icy deceit, and I felt suicide whispering in my ears, its mouth rotting like bromine and its eyes lucid, like looking through nothingness, and soon—I'll be nothingness, a grain of sand in a ocean full of pearls.
an. my writing just keeps getting worst and worst, and i almost didn't think it was possible, oh god. if you want, you can tell me how much i suck. yes, this is pretty cliche.