The Lasting Days Of Samantha Piper

1- Beautiful Disaster

    "I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity." - Edgar Allan Poe 

TROY's POV

It was on our Senior's Ball.

The last time I saw Samantha, she's wearing make-up. The colour of her lips a dark shade of red and her curves well defined in an emerald green dress. She danced like it was the last dance of her life, her face so ravishingly lit by the disco lights.

Our eyes met... 2 seconds... 11 seconds... 20 seconds... she was looking at me and I was looking at her. It lasted like 30 seconds.

That's when I've been struck with the realization of how deeply, truly, honestly I was in love with her. I could've asked her earlier before prom to dance with me, but that didn't happen. I could've talked to her at least of how madly I've been daydreaming every time she's near me, but that didn't also happen.

Instead, I'm just staring at her the whole night until Cameron, our school janitor, caught my act of blundering affection. He glared at me as if I am becoming some kind of serial stalker; I have no choice but to stop goofing at her presence.

And I said to myself, She was so fine. How's it someone like her even exists in a world full of tragedy?

And now,

I wish I never have said that.

. . . . . . . .  .

It was nine on the morning when I woke up early before the school starts at twelve. We are one week before the school ends. Just one week.

Like I normally do on Fridays, I already set everything I will need for the day. For me, there are seven days in a week and Friday is the most trustworthy among all those days. Friday means fun. Friday means adventure. Friday is a glittery present made for me. Friday is always spent with Samantha.

At eleven o'clock, I'm already on my way to the bus stop. Just then, I remembered that I forgot to carry something so I kind of multiply my running pace two times so I can still catch up to the bus. It was the pin that Samantha gave me which I usually stick to my bag pack whenever I go out with her. It was a token of friendship, companionship, and loyalty. She gave it to me the time I passed the Hayforch University entrance exam- she asked me to always remember what's written there.

YOU COULD BE ANYTHING. YOU COULD BE EVERYTHING.

Eight words, twelve syllables that I have been holding on since the day she handled it to me.

I cursed myself for forgetting it for the first time.

. . . . . . . . .

As I walk down the hallway, I noticed that the milieu around me feels kind of unfamiliar. Students were silently murmuring to each other, eyes darting from side to side like they are looking for somebody. I shrugged it off, maybe they are just in a daze.