Sarah is thrown back into an ugly past when her old best-friend-turned-enemy kills herself. With the help of new smiles and old glares, she learns that some things just won't stay dead until you make peace with them.
Soft sun splintered through the white-grey clouds, temporarily filling the air with bright light only to be covered in shadow once more. The grass was lush and green, freshly wet after the latest April shower, which sent a rich petrichor wafting through the breeze.
The cemetery was a rolling hillside of graves, lined up in a gradual slope of marble stones and wooden crosses. Old headstones crumbled with faded lettering, and petals from weeks-old bouquets and wreaths blew in the chill wind.
I stood before a fresh white headstone laden with pictures and flowers. The stone read:
'Here Lies Clara Aitken, Beloved Daughter and Friend'.
I looked down at my feet, realising morbidly that I was standing directly on top of her. I tried not to think about what exactly lay below my feet, instead marvelling at how seamlessly the grass had grown back.
I supposed that was the way of things. We die and are buried, and soon the grass grows and everyone seems to have forgotten about who you were and what you did - you were a daughter, and a friend, but not much else. Only what you were to a handful of people. The only real thing that remained of this girl was a pearly headstone covered in droplets of rain.
"Hey, Clara," I mumbled, feeling embarrassed as I spoke to a dead girl. I looked around, but I seemed to be the only person there. I continued, deciding that saying it aloud would be better than letting the confusing mass of thoughts build inside my head.
"I don't know why you did what you did," I said, "But I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry that I let something so stupid get in the way of our friendship.
"I love you, Clara."
I stepped away from the grave, and walked down the hill, feeling sullen but light. The sun peaked once more from behind the clouds, and a breeze rushed through my hair.
I walked in silence all the way back to my house, for once not caring about the distance as I reflected on every time Clara had made me laugh, or cry, or shout.
'People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.'
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
