I began to pace the library. I do that a lot when I'm anxious. Hey, what can I say? Bad habits die hard. I wonder what Kendra was thinking.
Was I supposed to do something? Hey, there's Mickey, the brainiac, maybe she can fix this. No. I stepped on to the little stool and felt my way through the horror section. Hello, Stephen King. Fancy meeting you here, eh? No, I'm not Canadian, just bored and grim. I got over it.
Maria stepped through the library door, and a feeling of dread and fear spread through my body. Tears streaked her face, and I knew I'd have to fix her. "Mickey," she sobbed, "Alice is…blaming me." I turned away from her. I didn't want any of this again.
"It's about Kendra," I said. It was not a question. "She's faded from my memory, and I advise you to let her go, too." Maria cried more. I took her in right then. Her face had become pale, like she hadn't seen the sun in years, when really it's only been a few weeks. What really caught my eye was how thin she'd become. Her waist was as wide as my fist. My hands were unusually large but still. She had bags under her eyes. "You haven't been sleeping."
She shook her head. "How am I supposed to? I ran over Kendra."
I remember the story as clear as day. It's like reading a novel. I remember all of the big points, like the crow in The Vampire Diaries. I actually wouldn't mind Damon taking me now. Life is hard.
Kendra went to a special fashion school in New York. We were best friends, and she left us. When she finally returned, she was snooty and mean to us. One day, we were at the mall. Maria, Alice, and I, that is. Maria was driving. All of a sudden, Kendra was in front of us. Maria was going 40 mph. She lost control and hit her. We quickly got out of the car to see Kendra…her clothes were dyed with crimson and her body was no longer hers.
"You didn't do it," I said.
"But what if it wasn't an accident?" Maria grabbed my sleeve.
"I've gone over it a billion times!" I screamed. The librarian glared at me. I just glared back. "You couldn't have done anything different."
"It hurts," she said.
"I know it does," I hugged her. Alice had to understand this. These two didn't come to my world. My world consisted of hundreds of other people. They come from books and stories, fiction or real, long or short. We all have a story, and it sticks with us forever. Whether it is humor or the horror you see from Stephen King or even Chris Wooding, we have to cope. Kendra is dead, and I hope they realize that. I know all will be well soon.