The Best Friend's Dream

Chapter 2: She Died For Me

During the summer after our last year of school, everything changed. It was a blue-sky, bright-sun kind of day, and Shannon and I were going to spend it at the nearby pool. We chatted about the college we were both going to go to in September, and raced each other in the pool; a perfect summer's day.

When I woke up on the tenth August 2014, I didn't anticipate my heart being ripped out and crushed. I didn't anticipate my stupidity of not looking before crossing the road. I didn't anticipate the big lorry to come round the corner just a I was crossing the road. I didn't anticipate the driver of the lorry to be a drunk that had his eyes on his phone instead of on the road. I didn't anticipate Shannon to jump in front of it. I didn't anticipate my best friend dying for me.

She was knocked out on impact and her body fell on top of mine, and I let out a scream that seemed to last an eternity, before letting unconsciousness take over. I had to escape the horror of my life.

I woke up later that day in hospital, and I let out a sob almost immediately. Everything came rushing back. My lack of focus, the lorry, Shannon, the pool of blood...... I knew what had happened the moment the doctor walked in. I knew that Shannon had saved my life, and now she was dead because of me.

Just a few hours before we had been screaming like five year olds, splashing and making the most of the summer, but now, Shannon would never swim again. She would never fall in love, go to college, she would never own a dog named Toto or a blue beach house.... All because of me. I had escaped unharmed, with just a mountain of guilt to drag around with me.

When I got home, I just sat at my desk, staring at the photos of Shannon and I let the tears slide down my cheeks into my mouth. She was too kind, too smart, too special to die. She died because of her kindness, for Heaven's sake. I didn't know what to do, there wasn't a single memory where Shannon wasn't my best friend. Every memory I had either had her in it or I had told her about it. I don't know how long I sat there, staring at the pictures of Shannon, letting the grief and sadness suffocate me like a blanket of darkness.

There was a picture of us when we were three, chasing each other in a field. Another picture of us at Shannon's fifth birthday party, and another photo of us climbing a large oak tree at the bottom of Shannon's garden. The newest addition to these photos was one of us at the beach, facing away from the camera, watching the waves wash over the sand. We're holding hands, and it captures our friendship perfectly - inseparable, filled with beach holidays and beautiful. My older sister took it last year on our Californian holiday, and Shannon and I both have a copy of it.

Mum brought some pasta up and let me eat it upstairs, and I couldn't help but notice her looking at me like some sort of wounded animal. She sighed before leaving me to eat. As if I could eat now. Pasta was one of the few meals Shannon and I both loved, especially with the cheese sauce my mum put on the pasta that I was supposed to now eat.

Half an hour later, and the pasta still lies in front of me, untouched. What is the point in doing anything now that she's gone? My chest feels tight and I have to breathe loudly and deeply to stop the salty water dripping down my face again. I feel dizzy and sick and a million emotions at once.

Guilt, for being the reason she's gone. Sadness, for losing my best friend. Anger, for the lorry driver not paying attention. Jealousy, because she doesn't have to go through the pain that I will now endure for the rest of my life. Sickened by the memory of Shannon's lifeless body falling on top of mine and the blood that soaked through my clothes, I scream.

I don't care that the neighbours will hate the ongoing, ear-splitting sound. I don't care that it's unfair to take out all my emotions on everyone else's happiness. I don't care, because the person that meant the most to me has been ripped away. Because of me.

Ebony, my black cat that Shannon and I used to terrorise (unintentionally) when we were younger and gently cuddled for hours when we were more mature comes into my room. She nudges my leg with her head, mewing for attention, but I don't look down. Sensing that something isn't right, she leaps onto my lap, and my hands subconsciously stroke her back. Her purrs draw me out of my hole of grief and guilt, and I decide to play with her for a bit, in an attempt to take my mind off of things.

Fifteen minutes later and a lot of cuddles and games later, I feel a tiny shred of happiness, which is all I can really accept right now. What I did to Shannon is so despicably evil that I don't allow myself to feel too jubilant. It's unfair to my best friend.

By the time that my mother tells me to think about getting some rest there is a small smile on my face, but I know it is wrong to let it get any bigger. I have decided that there is no denying that what Shannon did was a brave and courageous act of friendship and love, but I can't help feeling that it would be better if she hadn't done it. She was prettier, smarter, kinder and much more talented than I am, and she had so much to live for.

She wanted to be a fashion designer, just like I did, and it was evident she was going to be a successful one, due to her talents in Art and DT. I, on the other hand, though dreamt to be a fashion designer more than anything else, wasn't anywhere near as talented as Shannon. It was this sort of situation with anything; swimming, maths, science, singing..... Almost everything apart from baking, cooking and sewing. Those are my talents.

As I fall asleep for the first time in my life without my best friend Shannon alive, I remind myself that she died for me because she loved me.... Now I had to return the favour.

I'm not sure if this is too clichéd or too short or whatever, but I hope you liked reading it! Please comment your thoughts on this as well as any constructive feedback you may have about my story!

-Harib01