• ~Please check my gallery for prior chapters before reading this~

    I glared at the diary, thinking that maybe if I concentrated hard enough, I could go back to these events and change them.

    But, of course, nothing happened.

    I firmly had my hands clamped onto the sides of the diary. I shook my head, let go of the diary, and looked up at the ceiling. That had to have been the dumbest reason for committing suicide. And suddenly, an old emotion came rushing back into my body.

    Hate. I suddenly hated her all over again. I realized everything she did for me, everything she ever did, was never sincere.

    I laid down with the diary back in my hands. Suddenly and aggressively, I started ripping out the pages, one by one.

    It felt so good, but suddenly I remembered Tuesday, shredding the report for science made by Mary. I looked down at the pieces of paper littered on my bed. And as I looked, a single line from a single page caught my attention:

    Tom, if you ever read this, let me tell you. I've...always had feelings for you.

    Why? Why would she love me? And suddenly, all the hate once bore on Mary was gone, and once again it was me that I hated. How'd I not realize? All the nice things she's done, all the smiling, everything...

    Mary certainly wasn't being sincere by any means at school most of the time. But...there was one thing I was certain she was sincere about, and that was helping me. Out of her own free will, she was kind to me and considerate.

    And suddenly, a flashback of my dream I had on Thursday night came back rushing through my brain. I had gone off a cliff...Mary tried to save me, but I ended up dragging her down with me.

    I could see now what that meant. I was in my own mess in life back then, and when she tried to help; when she tried to pull me up, I only brought her down...brought her down with me.

    Sure, I've changed. I'm not the person I was on Tuesday, the person I was as I ripped up the science report. But I was too late to change...and it wasn't until now that I realized what I had done to Mary.

    She didn't kill herself. I did. I killed her inside, I broke her heart. And I suddenly thought myself as a selfish murderer.

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    On Sunday, the funeral was held at a local church. Hundreds of people jam-packed the sanctuary, as a pastor gave a speech about God's mercy, and how much he had loved Mary.

    Well, I had thought, if God loved Mary so much, how come he let her die? Why'd he let her pull the trigger?

    The pastor then allowed volunteers for an open mic testimony of Mary. I had immediately stood up, and waltzed over to the mic.

    I thought about the day in science class, as I had stuttered my way through the first line of the 10 page project. And that was with only 20 or so kids looking at you, and with a much lighter subjected.

    I gazed into the eyes of my audience, my throat feeling clogged as I weakly started,

    "I--I don't know what to say." I paused searching for words, and then continued, "I've never been the one to talk to crowds. In fact--in fact I've never been the one to really talk to anyone. But that all changed on Wednesday, when my mom," my mom turned her face, "woke me up and told me straight out what a jerk I was." I swallowed and bit my lip. I continued, "I suddenly realized...what I had become. But I feel like--I feel as though I'm too late. All my life, I've thought of...life as a sort of game. There were no rules in this game. No restrictions. I felt as though it was only my right to play the game how I liked." I took my gaze off the people, and stared down at the pulpit, as I continued to continue, "Mary played her game in a completely different way and attitude. She was always upgoing and kind. And it should've been that I respected her for that from the very day I met her. But, on the contrary, I had hated her, probably because her beliefs conflicted with mine." I looked up at the ceiling, a tear streaming down my cheeks. I wiped it off, as I whimpered, "It's taken so long to realize how wrong I was. And I fear--I fear it's too late. And I can't help but think that if I had changed earlier, if I hadn't been so malicious, none of this would've happened, and Mary would still be with us. I--" I stopped, shook my head, and walked back off to my pew seat.

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    Hours trudged on by, as people paid their respects to Mary, saying how wonderful of a girl she was, how she helped with a math problem, how she gave someone her lunch, how she always laughed with everyone. I wished I had those fond memories, but unfortunately, I could only remember her hurt face as she looked at the bits of paper over the lunch table.

    And, suddenly, it was over. People got out of the church, and drove off. I was sure, by next week, this whole incident would be forgotten, and the memory of Mary would be stuck at the back of everyone's head. I didn't want that to happen, and I vowed I would think of her every passing day.

    I walked over to her dead body, finding that I couldn't look directly into her eyes, even though they were closed. I felt an optimistic feeling that she would suddenly rise up and exclaim exuberantly, "Ha ha! Did you think I was really dead?"

    But, of course, she just laid there like a lifeless statue, because that's what she was.

    I looked up at the sculpture of Jesus dying on the cross with an arch above it that said "Jesus Died For You". Where was God when Mary died? Where was He when she pulled the trigger? Where was He when her parents divorced? Where was He ever in her life? Did God enjoy spectating the depressing lives of his little puppet humans?

    And suddenly, right there and then, someone new was added to my hate list. God. I hated God.