• Don't Forget Me When I'm Gone • By: Booksbyev •

___1___

My name is not important. Not now at least. I'm not a villain. I'm not a crook. But I'm up for ransom. No, don't turn me in, please! It's not what you think!

Sit down and I'll explain myself, before you run and tell the government officials. Those nasty men! They'd pay good money for me.

You are a stranger. Your very handsome indeed, and I really like that color of hair. Very smooth, delicate.

Never mind your hair.

Do you like a good story?

Good.

Someone needs to hear my bundled secrets. And you, friend, are just the person who may.

Call me Neighbor.

Let's just play it safe.

I'm sorry- I don't trust you.

I was betrayed by my best friend.

You can't be any worse though, can you?

Listen.

What I'm about to say- is important.

Important to anyone who hopes to survive in this upside down dilemma.

It was a warm sunny day, and Angelina and I were both sitting on Miss Fanny Morello's abandon building. A small piece of pink yarn was intertwined in my delicate fingers. It was soft, but dirty. I tucked it into my overall pocket. A memory to hold on to.

Miss Fanny Morello was an old woman who made blankets, in this old factory of hers. She was a kind woman, my friend, until the famine that struck only 6 months ago. The famine had passed, along with Miss Fanny, who was wrapped in her own blanket peacefully sleeping inside the Earth.

I glanced at Angelina, who was sipping her cream soda out of a big glass bottle we purchased with our allowance. It was magnificent- it had a beautiful handle and spout, and we fought over it occasionally. Her drink was almost gone.

She said my name, and I turned to her.

"Would you like to do something today? Something exhilarating, exciting, exquisite? Something we've never dared to do in our lives?" She questioned, resting the glass bottle on the cement.

I didn't want to upset Angelina, so I agreed by a nod of my head. Angelina was easily troubled: and would call me the most childish names such as" Debbie downer " or " party pooper"

I thought this was ridiculous of course, that a 15 year old girl was to be acting like a 5 year old troublesome boy.

"Ever wanted to he rich?" She asked, forgetting her other sentence. "Well of course," I said, "everyone wants to be rich and support the government."

"Not the government. Ourselves is who we should support. Think if we were rich- we could rule the world. We could have dresses and jewelry and food galore, and things we've never had before. All of the things we've ever said, right at the tip of our fingers. All in our grasp. Oh imagine me in a fancy ball gown, sipping tea and eating pies, filled with cream and topped with raspberries. I wish I was rich."

She turned to face me, with a sneaky smirk. "We could be rich, you know. We only need to do one simple thing."

"Get a job?" I suggested. "We could move up and up until we had a great high-pay job."

"No, " she said, "we could rob a bank."