As I slowly drifted back into consciousness, I kept my eyes closed. My head was throbbing. The wind was brushing the tall grass against my face.
After lying on the ground for what seemed like hours, I finally opened my eyes to see that I was lying under a tree. I studied the tree for a while, and I noticed that directly above me it looked as if a branch had recently broken off the tree. I felt a since of Deja Vu after looking up at the tree.
I heard a car drive by somewhere in the distance. The sound, for some odd reason, made me want to sit up. I sat my self up against the tree, my head still throbbing. The grass was so tall that I could barely see over the top as I was sitting against the tree, but, with what I could see, I realized I was sitting on my school’s grounds. I felt a little weird at the school without other students walking around, cursing about teaches and insulting their peers. I kind of enjoyed the peacefulness of it.
"They said it was suicide!" I yelled as I clenched my fists and punched my friend's locker, denting it. I flattened my hand against the locker and looked down at the ground. "They said he killed himself!" My knuckles started to bleed. "That's bull!"
My friend took a small step back, but then stepped forward and patted my shoulder.
"Why would they say that?!" I continued to yell, tears welling up in my eyes, "His own parents!" I slapped my hand on the locker.
My friend put his backpack down, letting it flop to the floor. He bent over slightly and opened it, pulling out a plastic water bottle, filled to the brim with water. He stuck the bottle out towards me, offering it.
I turned my head and looked down at the bottle sadly. I grabbed the bottle and tilted my head back as I poured some of the water into my mouth, holding the bottle above it. The water was warm and tasted like the metal it came from. I swallowed a bit of it and swished the rest around in my mouth until I spit it away onto the cold, cement floor. I handed the bottle back to my friend.
"Maybe he did," he put the bottle back into his backpack, "I mean, he was depressed."
"No," I looked at my friend, the tears turning to anger, "That stupid b***h of a step-mom said he was." I paused, waiting for my friend to reply, and when he didn't I continued, "Him and I were best friends, we knew everything about each other. He was only acting depressed to get his step mom worked up. He would've told me if he was really having problems, okay. He wasn't depressed Jake."
Jake took a step back before saying, "He could've been lying. Depressed people do, and most of the people who knew him thought he was a liar."
I thought about punching him, but held myself back. "No, that wasn't the only thing wrong with it, he had no bruises." Jake looked confused, so I explained, "His parents said that they found him hanging from the fan in his bedroom."
"Yeah, so?" Jake asked, wondering what I was getting to.
"If you hang yourself, you get bruises on your neck," I replied. "Bruises don't go away after you've died and they don't appear either. When we were at the funeral, I remember not seeing any on his neck and his real mom had even pointed out noticing that he seemed unharmed. Do you remember seeing and bruises?"
Jake thought hard for a few seconds before saying, "No, I don't remember any. I think you might have a point, Eric."
"Yeah," I looked up at with a serious expression, "Tomas didn't kill himself, he was killed."
After lying on the ground for what seemed like hours, I finally opened my eyes to see that I was lying under a tree. I studied the tree for a while, and I noticed that directly above me it looked as if a branch had recently broken off the tree. I felt a since of Deja Vu after looking up at the tree.
I heard a car drive by somewhere in the distance. The sound, for some odd reason, made me want to sit up. I sat my self up against the tree, my head still throbbing. The grass was so tall that I could barely see over the top as I was sitting against the tree, but, with what I could see, I realized I was sitting on my school’s grounds. I felt a little weird at the school without other students walking around, cursing about teaches and insulting their peers. I kind of enjoyed the peacefulness of it.
"They said it was suicide!" I yelled as I clenched my fists and punched my friend's locker, denting it. I flattened my hand against the locker and looked down at the ground. "They said he killed himself!" My knuckles started to bleed. "That's bull!"
My friend took a small step back, but then stepped forward and patted my shoulder.
"Why would they say that?!" I continued to yell, tears welling up in my eyes, "His own parents!" I slapped my hand on the locker.
My friend put his backpack down, letting it flop to the floor. He bent over slightly and opened it, pulling out a plastic water bottle, filled to the brim with water. He stuck the bottle out towards me, offering it.
I turned my head and looked down at the bottle sadly. I grabbed the bottle and tilted my head back as I poured some of the water into my mouth, holding the bottle above it. The water was warm and tasted like the metal it came from. I swallowed a bit of it and swished the rest around in my mouth until I spit it away onto the cold, cement floor. I handed the bottle back to my friend.
"Maybe he did," he put the bottle back into his backpack, "I mean, he was depressed."
"No," I looked at my friend, the tears turning to anger, "That stupid b***h of a step-mom said he was." I paused, waiting for my friend to reply, and when he didn't I continued, "Him and I were best friends, we knew everything about each other. He was only acting depressed to get his step mom worked up. He would've told me if he was really having problems, okay. He wasn't depressed Jake."
Jake took a step back before saying, "He could've been lying. Depressed people do, and most of the people who knew him thought he was a liar."
I thought about punching him, but held myself back. "No, that wasn't the only thing wrong with it, he had no bruises." Jake looked confused, so I explained, "His parents said that they found him hanging from the fan in his bedroom."
"Yeah, so?" Jake asked, wondering what I was getting to.
"If you hang yourself, you get bruises on your neck," I replied. "Bruises don't go away after you've died and they don't appear either. When we were at the funeral, I remember not seeing any on his neck and his real mom had even pointed out noticing that he seemed unharmed. Do you remember seeing and bruises?"
Jake thought hard for a few seconds before saying, "No, I don't remember any. I think you might have a point, Eric."
"Yeah," I looked up at with a serious expression, "Tomas didn't kill himself, he was killed."
