Let the winged things fly

2.

Hey. I'm back. It's snowing here and I don't know what to do because she liked the snow and we'd always go out and write stuff in it but I'm not gonna tell you what because it was between me and her and also I'm trying to keep it clean.

I'm writing sitting in my wardrobe. It's dark so I need to use a torch and it smells vaguely of cat food. Despite these rather inconvenient truths, I come here often, in the hope that my parents won't disturb me with their 'sympathetic gestures'.

My dad's not so bad. He avoids mentioning her really, just sort of pretends everything's jolly and nice. He doesn't like situations involving sympathy, which is good, because it's not like I deserve any.

My mum, on the other hand, feels the need to check if her daughter's OK every freaking minute of the day. Whenever I hear her coming up the stairs these days I hide away in here because she'll undoubtedly come and sympathise with me and I just can't stand the guilt of it all.

I don't particularly want to tell you what's gone on since it happened. It's not that I don't want you to know, I just don't want to relive it like that.

Let's just say I ain't so proud of myself.

So I suppose I'll try to tell a little bit of the story. Not that it's really very exciting. If you came here for dragons, you're probably better looking for a story with ... I don't know ... 'dragons' in the title. Just a hint.

Sorry.

My dad says I just have sarcasm running through my veins. I expect he's right.

Two summers ago, I was a good person. I had a best friend, a couple of friends here and there, a healthy relationship with my family (which, by the way, is comprised of two parents and approximately six cats - it varies) and a face that didn't resemble a barbie doll.

Her name was Lara. My best friend, I mean. The one who

Never mind. I assume you've already figured that out.

She had blonde hair and glasses. I expect you're imagining two 'hipster' best friends who did everything together, her with long, wavy hair and oversized glasses, and me a sort of brunette double of her.

Not

at

all.

Not everyone in this world can be slim and beautiful. You have to have the stout ones to compare them against.

Lara, I hate to say, came under the latter group. She wasn't ... fat or anything ... just a little overweight. She had short hair, bobbed, small, rectangular glasses, brown eyes, and a couple of spots here and there. But she was beautiful. I was just too naïve to see it.

And boy, do I feel guilty.

We were close, though. We were both nerds, and we'd spend upon hours sitting in my bedroom discussing the books we'd recently. I didn't think to ask why we never went to her house.

Soon enough, our blissful, innocent summer was over, and we were forced to start High School.

High School. That's where it all went wrong. I know I can't blame what I did on the place I did it, but it sure would've helped me to stay in Primary.

High School Day 1.

Me and Lara were walking to school together, as per usual. It was pretty OK weather for September; cloudy, but not cold.

'Ugh...school,' I sighed, hoping for dear life that this was all a dream.

'High school,' Lara corrected. 'It'll be fine. It's just a bigger version of Primary, with more clubs and committees and stuff. I bet there are English clubs and everything.'