A quick short story I came up while sitting around doing nothing. I read it to my friend, and she thought it was okay. So I guess I'll leave up to you people to decide, my lovely reviewers, who I love so much! It's sad, I guess, which you should have learned to expect from me if you've read any of my other stuff.

Really, I'm not going to lie. I hadn't really noticed Raven. All I knew was that he sat in the back of my english class, obsorbing space. He was always writing, so I guess I thought he was kind of a nerd, a teacher's pet. He had shaggy black hair, that he had streaked white. he had glasses that he used to hid his eyes, which were always trained on his paper. He wore baggy clothes that covered his whole body, swallowing him like a giant black hole.

That was the extent of my knowledge. I didn't notice the way he looked at me when we passed each other in the hallway, or how he looked over at me in english, over and over. I didn't notice how close to my seat he sat on the bus. I didn't learn any of this until later.

I guess no one noticed Raven. I never saw him with anyone. Not a single person. One day, I had to stay after school. As I was walking down the hall, I saw Raven come my way. I walked by him. I thought I heard him say my name.


But when I turned around, he was walking away, so I must have imagined it. I didn't really care anyway.

Another day, I saw him and the english teacher talking. The teacher was talking to him softly, and it sounded like was trying to persuade him to do something. Raven kept shaking his head.

A friend told me later that Raven used to stay after school alot to talk to the english teacher.

I hadn't noticed.

Then one day, he didn't come to school. I still didn't notice. I didn't notice when days passed and he didn't show up. I don't think any one noticed. Except maybe the english teacher. I guess he noticed Raven all along.

I finally noticed his absence when our english teacher stepped infront of our class, looing very somber.

"I have some very tragic new." he told us, and while he sounded very serious, I honestly thought he was going to tell us he had lost a test or something.

"Your classmate, Raven, is dead."

All around the room, heads swiveled to look at the empty desk, the one we had ignored for days as it sat alone. The room was silent as we all stared at the desk. No one- and I mean no one- had talked to him, but he was suddenly everybody's best friend.

"What!" a boy asked, and another said, "How!"

The girl who sat in the desk next to him began to weep softly. I was just stunned into silence.

"His father...shot him." he said, and there was an outraged shriek of rage and disstress. I think that's when I began to cry too.

Raven was the talk of the school for many months to follow, as his story slowly came out. After his mother left them, his father began to beat him. He wore the baggy clothes to hide the bruises. The english teacher had tried for weeks to get him to confess to the abuse, but Raven refused.

The day he died was the day I remembered getting a new phone.

He had come home and found his father drunk as a skunk. His father and him had argued, and faught. The dad had said something bad about one of his stories.

Stories? Is that what he was always writing?

Apparently this story was very important to Raven, because he punched his father back.

And in the end, his own father got hold of a gun and shot him in the chest. He dumped the body, and no one even bothered to worry about him until the english teacher finally called the cops.

I didn't know how to respond to this tale. It was all over the news, and my school reacted with horror. Ceremonies were held.

Then one day, someone knocked on my door. It was the teacher. In his hand were doens of letters adressed to me, from Raven. They all talked about how much he admired me, and how pretty I was. The last told me he loved me. And his story. The one he had died for. It was a tale of a boy named Raven and a girl named Tiffany.

He had loved me.

I hadn't noticed that either.