Dear Lizzie,
The ceremony was yesterday, in that big church we'd pass on our way to the market. It took three hours, and each minute was torture.
I watched your little sister toddle around happily, too young to understand that you were gone. But your mother knew. She looked so destroyed. Have you ever seen a zombie, Lizzie? Do you know what they look like? Because your mother looks like one when she's not crying. I've never seen anyone scream-sob like her before, broken on hands and knees. She screamed herself hoarse saying your name over and over and over again: LIZZIE LIZZIE LIZZIE!
You broke her to pieces, Lizzie. How could you do that to her? How could you do it to me? God, Lizzie, how could you be so selfish?
YOU ARE READING
Dear Lizzie
Short StoryDear Lizzie, Everyone says you’re gone. But you can’t be—you’re Lizzie. You just can’t. But you really are, aren’t you? // letters written by a girl who just wants her best friend back
