She wanted to be an artist. She would draw so beautifully. Her pictures looked so real. She showed me her pictures, they were beautiful. They are beautiful. I go into the art room and see Ms.W. She looks at me with tears in her eyes. She misses them. She’s crying for them in a way I never will until I finish this. I have to do this. She gets up and hugs me,
“You are such a lucky girl, Hope. Such a beautiful, young, lucky girl.” She mutters into my ear. I give her a tight smile. Not knowing what to say. I can’t say thank you. It wouldn’t seem right. I didn’t want to live anyway. This life isn’t mine,
“Ms.W, I was wondering if I could keep Samantha’s things. A way to remember her. It’s just during her last moments…” I stop myself; I wouldn’t let myself cry not yet. If I start I wouldn’t stop. She nods her head, tears falling freely from her eyes. She takes off her smock and wipes her wet red glasses. She ties her green dyed hair up in a bun. She walks to the back of the room and I follow. She waves her hand,
“This is all her stuff. I didn’t know what to do with it. She was very talented. She was going to be something that girl. Such a terrible tragedy.” She wiped her glasses again and pulled out a wagon from her closet. “You could put them in here to carry. It’s a lot of stuff.” She saw that I was in no mood to talk so she walked away leaving me alone in the classroom. I took a deep breath and one by one I put all of her artwork into the wagon. I stop when I see a self-portrait. Her bright green eyes looked so alive. Her untamable frizzy orange hair was all over the place. Her lips were pulled into a wide smile showing all teeth. So much life. All gone now. Dead. Never coming back. I swallow a sob and put it in the cart. As well as everything else.
I leave the art room walking through the high school I never wanted to see again. I walk out the school and walk to a well-known art gallery. The receptionist looks up when I enter,
“May I help you?” She asks me. I nod my head,
“I will like your boss to take a look at these pictures. She will not be disappointed. I promise.”
“DO you have an appointment?” she asks me,
“Please. I need to do this.” I look at her begging. She squints her eyes at me,
“Hey aren’t you the-“
“Yes I’m the survivor. Now please let me do this.” The receptionist sighs and finally gives in,
“Fine but only for a moment. Knock before you go in.” I nod my head and walk to the office. I softly knock and I hear a reply that sounded like a ‘Come in’. I walk in pulling the wagon along with me. I see a woman in her early fifties with magnetic green eyes and short grey hair,
“And you are?” she asks me,
“I am Hope Greenson. I want you to look at these pictures and publish them please.” She gives me a strange look,
“How old are you Hope?” she asks,
“Old enough. Please Miss.” I needed her to this. For Samantha. I owed it to her. She stretched her hand out and I gave her a couple of Samantha’s work. She put on her glasses and looked at them in shock,
“You drew these?” she asks. I swallow the spit in my mouth,
“A friend did.” I told her honestly,
“Well, tell your friend she is going to be very famous.” She said admiring the work in her hands,
“I can’t.” I told her making the lady look up, “ She’s dead.” She put the work down,
“I’m sorry for your loss.” She said taking her glasses off,
“I’m sorry too.” I told her looking down attempting to block off the tears in my eyes. I take a deep breath, “Please make her famous Miss. She deserves this. And give all the earnings to this address. I pull out a post-it from my pocket and put it on her desk, “This is her mothers address. They really need this. Please.”
The old lady smiles at me, “I’ll do what I can, Hope Greenson.”
I give her a tight smile, “Thank you, Miss. You won’t be disappointed. I swear.”
“I know I won’t be.” I walk out of the office and walk straight home. I collapse on my bed and close my eyes remembering Samantha’s last moments…
She takes a deep breath like I tell her to. She was going to survive. She had to survive. She was going to be someone.
“Get down! Everyone get down!” James tells us. We do. We had to. But Samantha doesn’t get down. She stays standing. I pull at her,
“What are you doing? Now is not the time to be brave!” I mutter at her. She shakes me off. James sees her. He walks up to her,
“I said get down. Did you not hear me, Samantha Hoursy?” she glares at him,
“You’re going to kill me anyway. I bet I’m on that hit list you got there. I want to die looking at you. Right at you. Just tell me one thing. What did I do?”
He looked at her in pure hate, “You didn’t believe me.”
“I-“ a gunshot filled the room. I closed my eyes as I heard a body slam to the ground. Dead, I thought,
“Hope.” She muttered. I don’t look at her, afraid of what I would see. I could hear her choking on her blood. I take a deep breath and crawl towards her. I take off my sweater and apply pressure onto her wound. Trying to stop the bleeding. I put her head on my lap,
“You are going to be fine, Samantha. Just keep breathing.” I was sobbing. I couldn’t hold back my tears, as my friend was dying right before my eyes,
“I don’t want to die, Hope. I’m not ready.” She was crying too,
“You are not going to die. We just need to get help.” I look around and see everyone watching us. All with fear in their eyes. No one was going to help. She was going to die. Right here, right now,
“Tell my family I love them. I’m sorry for everything. I’m so sorry, Hope. It-“ she stops. Her mouth slightly apart. Eyes open. Blood still pouring from her open wound. Dead. In my arms. I pull away from her. As if her skin was contagious. As if death was contagious. I put my hand over my mouth screaming. Tears falling freely from my eyes. Samantha, full of life, happy, artist, dead. Gone. I back up getting as far as I can from her. She was dead. There was nothing left to be done.
