Cold, hard sleet beats down on me as I stumble down the abandoned street. The funeral was hours ago and I still can't get her face out of my mind.
Her death was my fault.
I had watched the funeral from the top of a grassy knoll. That had been before the dramatic change in the weather. Unable to watch them bury her deep within the earth, I had run down the hill, away from her, the one I had murdered.
The wind picks up.
The rain pours down
I open my pack and pull out a glass bottle. I twist the cap off and drop it in the dirt. Holding the bottle to my lips, I swallow half of its contents.
"Underage drinking," I slur into the downpour. "I'm high. She would hate me." Downing the other half of the liquor, I drop the empty bottle into my backpack, beside three other empties.
I trip in the slush beneath my feet and fall into the light of a street lamp. I pull myself up and lean against the pole. Closing my eyes, I fall into a torturous, nightmare-filled slumber.
We were so happy. I was driving. She told me to go faster.
The wind picked up.
The rain poured down.
It should have been me.
The road was too slick. The wind was too hard. She told me to slow down.
The wind picked up.
The rain poured down.
It wasn't meant to be me.
The crash happened so fast, I thought we were both gone to the gates of some ethereal place. And then I opened my eyes. I felt something warm and sticky flow over my body. I thought it was mine. I climbed out of the car.
The blood was hers.
I open my eyes, terrified. I grab another bottle and drink the whole thing. High, but so mentally low.
The wind picks up.
The rain pours down.
I shiver as the rain turns to sleet and, slowly, into snow. I close my eyes again, clutching the empty bottle in my fist.
The wind picks up.
The snow falls down.
And I slowly succumb to the frozen numbness, never at peace.
EPILOGUE:
My body was found three days later, frozen solid, still clutching the bottle. The autopsy found what you already know. I died from freezing temperatures. They buried me beside her. Why? You told them about me, how I felt about her. How she felt about me.
But I'm not at peace.
A seventeen year old boy, who died clutching a beer bottle and a murder hanging over his head.
I will never be at peace.
Find a way to help me.
Save me and her.
Make this right.
Let the wind pick up.
Let the rain pour down.
ns 172.69.58.49da2
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