She's a Manic

Chapter 4: The Graffiti on Her Grave

We don't trust her parents with her memory, if we are right about her possible motive. We don't trust the boys she turned down. We don't trust the teachers that never thought to look beyond her rough surface. We don't trust a principal who hated her life long battle. And we do not trust anyone who looked shocked as we read our words of the deceased at her funeral.

We managed to talk her parents into letting her "best friends" get her outfit, since they never got to go with her, as "closure", to make sure she was buried they way she would have liked. It was an open casket. Her parents were not pleased, but they didn't want to look any worse than they probably did already. She was buried in a new leather jacket, a tattered, red plaid skirt from Hot Topic, a black button down, red tie, and her combat boots. Always her combat boots. Her messy, curly brown hair spread out behind her, like a halo. Like the saint she is.

We followed her directions. Lena, being the sweet, supportive girl she is, got the leather jacket she always held tightly around our shoulders. Regina, a quiet girl who wants to go into music, got her acoustic, and Roxy, her band mate, got the electric. I had snuck up to her room and grabbed the Kirk markers from her bag during the wake. Maria already filled in the engraving.

I drop to my knees and start writing, and end up carrying over to the back. The bright colors she would've loved. I looked it over when I finished. On the bottom, it had been so impersonal. And none of it applied to her. It was fixed now.

Lilith Eve Cooper

February 16, 2001-May 23, 2018

Our Punk Patron Saint. Protector of Women. Riot Grrrl. A Savior. Our Hope. Our Beacon. Warrior.

The Greatest Person To Ever Walk This Horrible Town's Streets

I stood, leaving a single back rose and an apple. I had to go. It was almost 9, and I had to sing with the band at the warehouse at 10. We needed to call out to more to join her revolution.