Faking Death

Prologue

         "If I die young, bury me in satin,

         Lay me down on a bed of roses,

          Sink me in the river at dawn,

       Bury me with the words of a                             love song."

To anyone who reads this,

You must probably be confused as to why I have not addressed this letter to someone specifically. That's because I don't know who'll get hold of this letter so I'm addressing it generally.

Now let's move on.

By the time you'll read this letter, I would already be in a deep slumber; one that is going to last forever. You may or may not be knowing why I chose to take this step, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm finally at peace. It's a shame to think that killing myself would be the only method to make me achieve happiness at last.

You may cry, sob, or break down; or may not be deterred at all (I think it would probably be the latter). I don't care. What's done is done. I went spiraling into eternal doom after what happened last summer. Emptiness consumed me. I felt suffocated.

Everywhere I went, everything I did, took me back to what had happened.

I couldn't bear living like this.

I was done.

I am sure I could not repent my actions even if I tried to. I'm not proud of anything I did. I hope God will forgive me. After all, it's not like I had a choice.

Keeping this brief, I want everyone to know that these are my final words.

To all my supposed 'friends', I have only one thing to say, and in bold – GO TO HELL.

Tell me mother I love her and don't bother telling my father anything, because he never cared about me anyway.

Yours Sincerely,

Alexandra.

Samantha Goodman fought her urge to crumple the paper and throw it away. Instead, she folded it neatly and turned to Trisha Hamilton, Alexandra's distressed mother. She mustered up a very fake sad smile, hoping Trisha would not notice her obvious disinterest.

Sure, she was supposed to be Alexandra's caring best friend, but all she could think was 'Good riddance.'

"We can't do anything. It's too late. I- I never believed Alexandra was capable of taking such an action, Mrs. Hamilton. She never told us anything, and I also don't understand why she hated us. If she had any problem with us, she should've told. We all would've understood. I can't really say anything, now. It's obvious she would not have told us about her problems. Did she tell anything to you? Do you know anything about what happened last summer?" Samantha asked, hoping not to sound too stressed. She didn't want anyone to even know what happened. It should only stay between seven people.

If that bitch said anything, I'll be sure to resurrect her and castrate her again personally, she thought.

Trisha furiously shook her head, wiping her tears and trying to control herself. "She didn't tell me about anything, and you already know about her relationship with her father. Oh, I really don't know why should would do this, I don't! Samantha you are such a sweet girl, I really don't understand why she wrote that she hates you, or the others. I just want an explanation! My sweet, sweet girl, why did you do this?" she sobbed.

Samantha shook her head. "If only I knew," she said wistfully. "Can I see her body for the last time?" she asked.

Mrs. Hamilton nodded, not being able to form a coherent sentence. Samantha trudged up the stairs, taking a left and opening the door to Alexandra's luxurious bedroom.

Everything looked normal. The beige curtains were opened to let the sunlight in, illuminating the whole room naturally. A king sized bed was in the center of the room, on which lay a small frame of a girl whose face was hidden by her dark, luscious locks. At the foot of the bed lay an empty bottle of pills.

Samantha approached the bed, bending down to grab the bottle. She inspected it carefully.

Anti- depressants.

The blonde heiress smirked and shook her head. "What a pity," she said, not really meaning it.

She crouched down at the edge of the bed and whispered to the body, "You know, we really don't care. At least, now we know you won't say anything to the police. The story has ended."

She got up and dusted off her dress. Taking one last look, she went downstairs.

Trisha stood in the doorway. "The funeral is at 8 tomorrow. I want you to give the eulogy," she told Samantha sadly. The younger girl nodded. "I won't be late. The least we could do is give the funeral she deserves.

***

"Are you serious? She's gone? She's really gone?" Vincent Claire questioned, unable to contain his relief. Samantha nodded at the group which had assembled at her residence.

"She's really gone. We're going to celebrate," she said while grabbing a bottle of Dom Perignon from the table. She opened the bottle of the expensive champagne, pouring it into the glasses.

"To victory at last!" she toasted.

"To victory at last!" the others cheered, downing the drink.

***

Somewhere in the world, a brunette female was checking her surveillance feed onto the computer while sitting inside the dormitory of a very prestigious school.

"So they're celebrating," she commented. "Let them celebrate while it lasts. I'm happy the fake body worked. No one suspected anything. Not even my mother. You were so wrong, Goodman, so wrong," she chuckled.

"The story has just begun."

Hello again, guys!

I'm re-doing the whole story. I wasn't satisfied with my first drafts, so I'm changing it.

I hope you like it!

If you do, don't forget to vote, comment, and share!

The holidays are gonna start, so expect me to be more online.

S.xx