I remember that day. The day I want to forget. It was an awfully sunny afternoon, the birds mocked the day with their happy chirping. I was happy. I shouldn't have ever felt happy. My phone played its ringtone of Here Comes The Sun by The Beatles.
Here comes the sun
Do do do do
Here comes the sun and I say
It's alright
I could feel the dread the moment I answered that call. I heard the sobbing in the background. I could almost smell the dingy hospital room they put her in. I could feel the wind turn cold as someone on the other line said,
"I'm sorry ma'am, but your friend Brianna has just passed away"
This is when the art started. The moment I couldn't feel, hear, or see anything. The moment her heart stopped beating. The moment I dropped the phone and it shattered.
To this day, I can't walk into her house. I didn't go to the funeral. Every night I sit by her grave and hear the scream. The scream I know filled her lungs when she was hit. This is why I make art.
