Snippets of Light

Last April

Gone. The emptiest word ever. Meaning left, never coming back, just gone.

It had been weeks yet the fact that it was dead had not sunk in yet. It seemed impossible. How could anyone be alive and running like a lunatic one minute then be stone cold and motionless the next? The memory of her face haunted Lyss, her charismatic and emotional face, frozen in only one expression.

How she had died? No-one knew. The town police force investigated for a week found nothing and gave up. Of course, while they were failing at their jobs, Lyss was crying in a corner of her tiny bedroom, willing herself to cry. But the tears never came.

She had spent every day in the past. But they persisted in their quest to stay put.

Was she a monster? Did she lack any sort of decency? Apparently so. She could not even have a fake tear for her best friend.

'Crying's overrated anyway,' she told herself, 'It's just a waste of time and energy.' Lyss did not really believe this, but it was better than convincing that she was a heartless she-devil.

When she's first seen April, after being summoned by the groundsman who found her, her first thought was, 'Geez April, the garden is not a bed.' Believe it or not, it was not the first time she had seen her in the garden like this. But it was the first time she found her dead. Obviously.

Her auburn hair was knotted and splayed across her face, blond highlights glinting in the afternoon sun. Her clothes were crumpled and her shoelaces untied and coated in mud. Not unusual. This was just how it was looked after. Lyss knelt down and shook her gently. When that did not work, she screamed the name of her best friend, her only friend. It was only then that she noticed the stillness of April's chest.

Without thinking she took an exaggerated step backwards, into a bush. Then she slowly sidled to the edge of the garden and sprinted away. With no idea where she was going, she ran as fast as her legs would allow her to anywhere. Anywhere but here.

As the shadows of her fears chased as she fled, she heaved in deep breaths of disbelief and glanced at the golden horizon. Lyss had absolutely no idea how long it had been for her lungs and muscles burned from the speed and effort. When at last she stopped she found herself just outside the tip.

"Great," she mumbled, "I'm getting on my way, I left my phone in my locker and ..." She is a collector and a shuddered, clutching her side as a stitch swallowed her sanity.

Her raged scream drowned out the sounds of machinery as everything became a blur.

When Lyss awoke the next morning to find herself in her own bed she could not remember anything. She was definitely not hit her head, it did not hurt. Suddenly an image formed in her mind. Her best friend's still face. Eyes closed, so peaceful yet... So cold.

No. It had to be a dream. April could not be... Dead. The word seemed so frightening, like the monsters that hide under the beds of small children at night. Lyss squeezed her eyes so tight it hurt. No. Not a dream. Not a dream.

How could this not be a dream? The bread swelling through her whole body had a ferocity and ruthlessness greater than that of even a deranged beast.

"Are you awake?" her mum's soft voice whispered through a crack in the door. Lyss propped herself onto her elbows. Her mum sank onto the bed beside her and twisted the tips of her daughter's braids between her fingers.

"What happened," asked Lyss, blinking away the sunshine peeking through the blinds.

Her mum sighed, "April ...."

"No," she interrupted, "I mean what happened to the tip?" She was trying to avoid the topic of the day.

Her mum sighed again, "Someone coming out of the tip of her head and saying,

Lyss nodded, vaguely remembering the dense coffee smell of the police car. Her head fell back to the pillow and she dozed.

That afternoon, Lyss somehow managed to haul her shaking body out of bed and into the kitchen. She watched as she became soggy and disgusting after deciding she was not hungry. The TV blared from the lounge. Lyss approached the door but looked away as a blonde reporter in pink lip-gloss gave a detailed recount on April 1, 2012. Photos flashed across the screen. Photos of the cheery and beautiful girl that had been spilled all over the world Lyss' father was sprawled across. Almost every photo depicted a pale and smiling April, her freckles sprinkled randomly across her nose, her auburn hair, which was never up, flowing around her fair shoulders. In the most recent pictures, the blonde complemented her bright personality and her hair fell just below her chest. Every single photo had a blurred face beside April's. That face belonged to Lyss.

School had been cancelled for the next week, assignments and exams pushed back. The school held a service to remember April but Lyss didn't go. The last thing she wanted to do with her Monday morning was sit on an uncomfortable wooden bench, listening to people all around her cry over someone they barely knew. Her best friend. Almost everyone who went had posted a selfie of themselves pouting, with a caption saying something about how depressing this whole thing was. All fake sadness to raise their images. There was no escape. The story was all over the news, on the front page of every newspaper and even in random stranger's Snapchats. It was infuriating to the point where Lyss had taken every device she owned into her parents' room and isolated herself in her bedroom.

So she sat there. In the corner. Still refusing to accept that April was ... Gone. Never coming back. Gone.

Today was the worst. It was on April 1st. April Fool's Day and April's birthday. It was a bit of coincidence. April's mum was debating between two options: Brigitte Kate or April Claire. When a child was born late, a warm smile replaced the mushed wail at the sight of her mother, April just seemed right.

Last year the girls had gone out rollerblading and had afternoon tea at the only shopping complex in town. April had spilled chocolate all down the skirt she had crumpled after all the times she fell over on the rink. But her smile had never faded. That night they'd stay at Lyss' place. April had braided Lyss' thin brown hair while making jokes about their ancient maths teacher. When they are gossiped and chatted until the end of the night, they have not stopped laughing, complaining or faking their sleep when a parent entered. That was so strange. Even in her sleep, April's face would constantly change. The peacefulness of her unnatural, almost deadly. Lyss shuddered at the remembrance.

Her mum had been on the phone for around an hour talking to April's mother.The sadness that they felt had to be twice as much as what Lyss felt. She couldn't even imagine. April's funeral had been exactly two weeks ago which made the day even harder. The sight of her lying in that coffin unnerved Lyss so much that she hadn't been able to stay. She hadn't yet visited her best friend's grave and didn't intend on doing so for a while. She wanted to wait until she finally cried, but didn't expect that to happen any time soon.

Whilst lost in her memories, Lyss' eyes flickered towards a drawing on the wall. It was a small depiction of two girls atop a hill, the triangular sun shining down on them from the corner of the page. April had drawn that. It had been a present for Lyss' 6th birthday. The drawing still hung in its place of honour above her disused desk, right where April had placed it. She stood up and gently pulled it off the wall. On the back was a message written in the large, messy scrawl of a young child:

Dear Lyss

You are my BFF. Always remember that.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Love from, April.

xoxo

A small tear finally rolled down her cheek.