The Suicide Letters

Chapter 1

 I remember the way she walked, how she spoke, how she simply was. Hanna Zepeda was herself one hundred percent of the time; no one could duplicate her style or peculiar attitude towards life. Hanna was my best friend in the world—the universe, even. We had been inseparable since the third grade. I was insecure and shy while she was feisty and outgoing. Opposites attract, as they say.

            It was a Saturday night, one I never would end up forgetting. I was holed up in my room, working ahead in all of my classes—nerdy, I know—when I heard the landline downstairs ring. My mom answered it, “Hello? Yes, this is Helen,” A long pause, then a loud gasp. “Oh, my God!” At this point, I was only half paying attention. My mother was like a Valley Girl on crack.  She freaked over the littlest things. She made it sound like finally getting a five cent pay raise was equivalent to completely wiping out our national debt. “I’ll be sure to tell her. God, Ingrid. Pass my regards on to Marie; I’ll call her later on this week. I’m sure she is not in the mood for socializing right now.” Click.

            Ingrid was my friend Brittany’s mom…and Marie was Hanna’s. Something seemed amidst, not right. The whole situation seemed to be the slightest bit off that it got me wondering. It was probably just unimportant motherly gossip. Probably.

            I heard muffled whispering beginning downstairs between my mom and dad. I was not able to make out any specific words, but their hushed tones revealed worry and sadness. And something else—urgency. “Celeste?” My mom called airily up the steps. “Can you come down for a minute, please?”

            “Yeah!” I shouted back, throwing my AP Chemistry book shut. I bounded down the steps two at a time, a maneuver my mother criticized me for doing. Something about it being highly dangerous (insert scoffing noise here). I plopped myself down on our green loveseat which sat across from the matching green sofa. “So…what’s up?”

            My parents sat together on the sofa, looking overwrought with emotion. My dad began, “Sweetheart, something has happened.”

            “Okay…” I said.

            My mom spoke now, “Ingrid just called. Marie—Hanna’s mother—had just called her with some depressing news.”

            “Let’s have it then.” I stated. I honestly had no clue what they were getting at. Secrets and not-knowing things drove me insane, however. Knowing the truth was better than living with lies.

            “Marie and Steven were out at a dinner party for his work. They only were gone two hours. When they came home, they couldn’t find Hanna. They searched the whole house. Until…they realized the bathroom door was locked. Steven unlocked it himself while Marie was looking elsewhere. Then…they found her in the bathtub.” My mother’s voice cracked. Dad snaked his arm around her shoulders as an attempt to soothe her. “Hanna committed suicide.” She choked out.

            I paused. My heart pounded inside my chest. I narrowed my eyes at them, “What kind of a sick joke is this?”

            “Honey, we aren’t kidding.” Dad said.

            “What the hell are you people trying to tell me? Hannah isn’t dead! Why would you lie to me about this? It isn’t funny!”

            Dad cleared his throat, “Hey now, Celeste. This is a really hard time for all of us. Just calm down and we’ll take this one step at a time.” He always hated it when I swore.

            I stood up, “I’m going to her house to prove to you all she’s fine! Alive and well!” I marched out the front door in my holey sweatpants and t-shirt, grabbed my bike, and pushed off the curb.

            Hanna only lived a mile away; it took me about seven minutes to get to her house. I thought about everything while I pedaled so hard, my legs were turning numb. Who did they think they were, trying to convince me my best friend was dead? I saw her yesterday night and all was as it should be! She was happy and laughing. People who are happy don’t run off and kill themselves—they just don’t!

            I turned the final corner onto her street. I came closer then I saw the flashing lights. Blue, red, and white lights bounced off the neighboring houses. I prayed to let it be anyone else but her. I jumped off of my bike and ran the rest of the way. The whole thing went in slow motion—like one of those cheesy old films. I made it in her yard just in time to see a body bag going into the back of the coroner’s car. The toes sticking out were painted with “strawberry daiquiri” nail polish. We had put it on yesterday night in my bedroom. My own finger nails were painted the same color. With tears pouring down my face, I turned into the street. My dad followed me to pick me up when he predicted this would no doubt happen. I laid down in the backseat, face first, and let out a gut wrenching sob after sob.

            My best friend in the universe was dead.

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Hey guys, I wrote this in like...half an hour. It's something new I'm trying. So tell me...do you like it? Let me know, because I miiight not continue it unless I get some sort of response.

Thanks :)