She is the one that nobody wants to be close to; the weirdo, the odd one, you know what I mean. She was tall and slender with transparent skin, like rice paper was used in place of flesh on Her. No one wanted to be close to Her, as if brushing against Her would cause them to become transparent too.

Her auburn hair stood starkly against Her skin, making Her seem even paler. Always their was a distant gleam in Her cerulean eyes, as if She was always, or never thinking-no one could ever tell the difference.
As if She didn’t stand out enough, She had many multicolored watches on Her left and right arms, from wrist to elbow. Yup, a complete weirdo. Rumor went that when She washed Her hands in the girls’ room, She would take them all off, one by one.
I had to wonder what She was doing here. Once long ago, we were friends. Carefree days of childhood spent running around on the playground, when you don’t much care for looks or appearances. She was always secretive, and I felt She was keeping something important from me. As we moved on from elementary to middle school, things changed, people changed, everything changed. Suddenly friends veer off onto their own path, and I guess that’s what happened with Her and I. She went to another school, and I haven’t seen Her till this September. Her secrecy still does enrage and frighten me. I suppose I should be understanding, but She’s so strange now. How could I not distance myself like the others? I don’t have any hierarchy in the 9th grade world.
The way She walks. You would swear She didn’t care about anyone in that place. Over confident. I think in a way, we were scared of Her confidence.
One day, I decided to try to talk with Her. The only thing I could say was to ask Her why She wore so many watches. She simply replied, “Time is my enemy, I need to keep an eye on it.” She then held her books closer to Her chest and sauntered off eerily, a faint sound of ticking following her down the hallway.
No one was sure what that meant. We spent many a lunch period trying to decipher Her unusual language. We assumed she was weirder than we thought, and avoided Her, even more so than we had before.
One day, a group of girls took off with Her watches while She was washing Her hands. Just grabbed them and ran out the door. Nobody really knows who, it’s as if they became transparent also from touching Her belongings. She didn’t even chase them I hear.
She sat sweaty and fidgety in classes for the rest of that day. It was unusually quiet in classes without the slightly familiar ticking sound that always followed Her. For once we saw Her express some sort of emotion, although we didn’t know what.
She didn’t come to school the next day.
Or the next…
The principal came into our history class to have a talk with us. We instantly assumed it was about Her watches and started looking around nervously. He started to tell us that She had died yesterday. He talked to us about what leukemia is, and how it slowly kills you by ruining your white blood cells. The class looked slightly bewildered. We all had no idea She was sick, She was always so very pale, so we thought nothing of it. The way the principal was talking, it appeared that he assumed we knew She had leukemia.
At lunch the children huddled around and their whispers filled the room. They talked of how glad they were that She was gone, and how they didn’t want to attend Her funeral. Cruel things about Her still floated through the air like ghosts, although this time She couldn’t hear them.
Days later, when the talk of Her death became stale. The lunchroom stood silent, the only sound was of chairs scraping the floor, and a few muffled coughs. I soon realized that without Her, we had nothing to talk about. She had been our conversation piece for months, and within those months we had long past forgotten what we originally talked about. She was what brought us together, even If it was for callous intentions. She was gone, and She took our voices with Her.

By JuteCat

Well, I'm not exactly gothic, so I'm not sure why I'm here. I enjoy bright and loud colors, books, and art of all sorts.