It was in the summer of 1967 when Papa and Mama first met.
Mama was young and pretty; she was wearing a red sundress with a daisy chain on her head.
Papa couldn't remember what he was wearing and neither could Mama, though she always joked that it must've been clothes, otherwise she would of remembered seeing him.
Even when we were older, Mama and Papa always enjoyed telling me and Michael how they met, and how flustered Papa got whenever Mama forgot his name, despite the fact that it was clear he was infatuated by her.
Michael says that if Mama remembered as much as she forgot, then she'd be even better at remembering than Papa.
And Papa remembers almost everything.
When I think of their story, I keep seeing the way Michael and Liann are towards each other, and I'll wonder if one day they'll be telling their kids about their first spring together.
I wonder if they'll remember my teasing, and little rhythm.
I doubt they'd forget me, but what about Pete?
Pete Harro, the boy. Our closest neighbour. The one who couldn't let go.
I remember Pete, even though I wish I didn't.
His awkward smile, his freckles, his fiddly fingers and the way he twisted them whenever he got nervous.
The way his blood ran down my arms and through my fingers.
How his scream pierced my ears, and the way they keep ringing with the remains of it when it goes silent.
No, I doubt they'd forget him.
After all, he was the one who couldn't get away.
YOU ARE READING
A Suicide
Mystery / ThrillerUnexplainable Questions and Theories found in a girls journal have little to say for her unexpected death. But what they do say slowly leads to her inexplicable departure... And an ambitious Reader intent on finding out the reasons for her Suicide. ...
