The Phoenix That Flew

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May 16, 2016

Dear Journal,

Dinner with Andy's parents was... strange. I learned she has a little brother, Thomas. He was only 11 years old. But he looked so much older. He had sunken eyes and a pale complexion. You could tell he was sad. Almost depressed.

Andy was a popular subject and she wasn't. They didn't want to talk about the deceased girl, but they had questions.

"Quentin, right?" Her mother asked.

"Yes ma'am."

"How long have you known Andy?"

"We first started talking on November 15th of 2015. But we first met April 16th of 2016."

"So not very long?"

"Not long at all, but I wish it had been longer."

"We all do."

They let me see her room. It was covered in posters of old bands and singers. It looked as if it had gone untouched for at least a month, then I realized, it had. I saw her suicide note. On her desk in the corner. Where there wasn't  posters there was bookshelves or sketches. In the corner was her bed, it had dark green sheets. There was a giant picture of a phoenix on her wall, she had clearly drawn it, no one else drew like her. I stared all around the room, taking in every detail.

"You know she loved you, right?"

I looked over to the door, it was Thomas.