Forgotten.
That’s what I’ll be. When everything is finally done, I’ll be forgotten.
Ice crunched beneath my boots. Frosted blades of grass poked up above untouched snow. I’d always hated seeing people mess up their perfect, glimmering lawns after a fresh snowfall. Early morning footprints stomped brutishly on their way to work. By the end of every day, each primeval lawn was trampled into gray sludge. It was very tacky, yes, but there was nothing I could do.
The wind bit at my nose while I walked. The scarf Grandma made was worn thin after years of wear. The green wool was bleached into a faded olive under the bright Alaskan sun. The tassels drooped and shed when I walked. Mother kept asking why I didn’t wear a new one, kept buying me new scarves, but this one was just fine. It reminded me of the days when she was still with us. The days when things were happy.
I sat down on the school steps and ate my granola bar, waiting for the rest of my peers to arrive.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Ronald gave me his usual greeting. I waved back as animatedly as I could on a Monday morning. He was so nice, always accosting me, rain or shine. I don’t even thing he knew my name. He groaned and climbed up the stairs, already sorting through his massive key ring. I thanked him for unlocking the doors and we went our separate ways.
Classes went by slowly. Mrs. Harries wore the blue dress she favored so much, despite the biting cold weather. I complimented her, but she probably didn’t hear. After wearing it so often, she must be used to me saying that. Javon needed to copy my math homework again so I asked Mrs. Harries to be dismissed. I trailed my nails over the rows and rows of lockers, already anticipating the end of the school day. Thinking about what I would finally have the chance to do made my body feel light and secure. My mind was able to rest for the first time in years.
I turned the dial on my locker slowly; I really had nowhere to be. Footsteps came from the opposite direction, heavy ones, like the person was still wearing snow boots.
“Hey!”
I whipped my head towards an angry-sounding voice. A boy about my age practically ran down the hall. He raised his arm. There was something in his hand, but-
Bang.
My body slammed against the lockers. There was screaming from every classroom. The boy’s eyes went wide and he looked at the gun in his hand. He looked at the scared teachers peeking out from behind their doors. Then he looked at me. No, not at me. At my torso.
I followed his eyes to the spot of red blooming across tummy. A pain more intense than anything I’d felt before slithered through my body. My knees buckled beneath me, dropping my body to the cold linoleum floors. My torso felt like it was ablaze, and each ragged breath stoked the flame.
I strained my neck this way and that, looking for help. My teachers were all frozen behind thick metal doors. My peers were probably shaking in some shadowed corner of each classroom. Sirens wailed in the distance. They were probably closer than I thought, but everything around me was muffled by pain. I looked at the boy with the gun. He stood, pale as a sheet in the center of the corridor. His body was arrested in place, his eyes locked on the blood pooling around my enervated body. I studied his face, trying to place the vague of familiarity gnawing at my mind. He must have been a student at the school. Mousy brown hair, quite like my own, was flattened beneath a red knit cap. Frameless oval glasses sat on his pointed nose. In my enfeebled state, I knew I wouldn’t remember his name before my time was up. He was almost more forgettable than me.
I let my head drop back to the floor and I shifted my gaze to a dusty corner across from me. Every movement hurt. This was not how I wanted it to be done. I planned to write a letter to my family. I wanted it to be peaceful. I wanted it to be done by me. Still, I should be thanking this boy. Without him, I may not have had the courage to do it myself. It was a shame he’d be painted as the villain, though. He was so clearly a victim. So confused and afraid, that he thought hurting people would appease whatever plagued his fragile mind. I wish I could have helped him in the end. Nobody else would after today.
Heavy footfalls thundered towards us now. I parted my lips to thank him, but hot, sticky blood left my mouth tasting like metal. Oh well. My eyes fluttered shut and it was like I was in a different place. My heart beat in my ears like a wide candombe drum. The fire in my belly calmed to a warm glow and everything around me was tranquil. I took one more breath and said goodbye to the forgettable boy.
