One Shots

Disc

  The disc was the only thing she had left of him. She played it over and over again in her room until her parents didn't even realize it was playing anymore; they had grown so accustomed to the sound. But she didn't. With the replay of each song she realized just how much she missed him all over again. Playing the tapes so often helped her cope, it almost made it seem like he was still there. Almost. But not quite. It was like the voice on the tracks was singing to her and only her. Like she was the only girl in the world. Like he was sitting there playing it for her and not lying six feet under the stars.

Some nights she would take her CD player and sit out on the roof, looking up at the night sky and silently talking to him. Saying how everything was okay; that she was okay even if he was gone when everyone knew that was the furthest from the truth you could get. Her parents saw it, her friends saw it, even her teachers saw a difference and somehow they all knew to leave her alone. Polite sympathies were not what she needed. What she needed was him. She needed him back in her arms, safe from all harm.But it was too late for that.

He was dead now. His spirit sometimes calling out through her beloved CD, the disc beginning to become warped from the number of times that she played it and then took it out so she could listen to it wherever she went and not just in the quiet safety of her own room. And people would let her. Her sister quit complaining for a few minutes and strangers would stay quiet and gave her sympathetic smiles; all of them could tell she was dying inside just by the look on her face. That disc was the only thing keeping her alive. It was her life-line, her last string of comfort and hope in the world that had been overly cruel to her. Life had dealt her a hard, cold hand and then got up and left, taking him with it.

Psychologists and therapists had tried their best to save her from herself, to save her from her memories, but she was unredeemable at the moment; just as she had been for almost the past year. The only thing that seemed to help in the slightest was music therapy. She would go once a week to slam her fingers down on piano keys; the notes that she hit representing her overwhelming emotions. At home, she listened to her CD again. The melodies it played soothed her just enough to let her live a little longer. They kept her from doing anything stupid. Their sounds brought back a million memories otherwise forgotten. A ticket to the past and to the future. The notes and rhythms living on forever.

She used music as an escape. The music brought her no pain. It was her friend. And soon enough she went from smashing piano keys to being able to play the beautiful melodies that she was so used to hearing. When she was playing she forgot everything. Her fingers moved on their own account, not consulting her brain first. It let her forget about the pain. The haunting memories. His smile. His laugh. The disappointed look on her parents faces. How her friends looked at her. The slightly terrified looks she got.

She forgot that she was the one who killed him.

(A/N: Hey all, so this is a one shot that I wrote quite a  while back but never published... I also never edited it. But anyways, I hope you liked it! Any type of feedback is greatly appreciated! Until next time, 

~Em)