Decided to participate in another writing competition.
Don't know why I bother.

Hosted by: flexibility.
Theme: Friendship
Section: 2, Essay.

Just Draft 1 first.
Read if you want.















Abigail


The pale tips of my fingers trembled uncontrollably as I carefully maneuvered them across the uneven surface that was a cold, grey slab of marble. I lightly traced the delicate swirls of light that had been caught in time, sealed away forever in stone – just like you. Little dents were artistically chipped with utmost precision to spell out your name, A-B-I-G-A-I-L, and below it, ‘beloved daughter, treasured friend to all’. My nose started to burn again and my vision blurred. Crystals of tears began trickling down the pink of my cheeks, because I knew the reason why you were not here anymore. The reason – was me.

All noises were abruptly hushed, all faces swung hastily towards the door. Quick-paced, shallow breaths filled the room, but other than that, no other sound was heard. This was so typical. It happens wherever you go, whenever people see you. You were so pulchritudinous that people could not help but to be mesmerized.

You had those deep hazel curls that streamed down your back as if endlessly, petite features that gave you that innocent look, eyes that were so dark it kept people staring, hoping to pry open the secrets you bury deep in them. As you sauntered in gracefully, men dropped the soft hands of the girlfriends and wives, negligently, to cover the rising heat that was starting to stain the pale canvases of their skin a luscious red. Ladies pouted and whimpered, trying desperately to get back lost attention, though some stared opening, awe-struck.

You donned your favourite tee, the one I had given to you for your sixteenth birthday, and a pair of coral blue denim jeans. It complimented your hourglass figure perfectly. Countless pairs of eyes strayed to the generous slit that went down your chest in a ‘V’ shape, desperately trying to mentally devour your voluptuous assets. Others groped around the lower region, admiring your flowing, slim legs that, although you could not see it now, were painstakingly toned and bronzed.

When you reached me, you clasped a delicate hand round my back and pulled me into a tight embrace, your perfectly manicured nails digging deeper into me, your head snuggling in the crook of my neck. A soft squeak was heard from you, and that was when I noticed your flushed, tear-stained cheeks, your red-rimmed eyes.

“What’s wrong, Abi?”
“Nothing, Pam. I just, I just. I miss you, that’s all.”

I trusted you. You were probably just frightened from the fight through that forest of peering eyes, like you always were. I left that thought at the back of my head and beamed you an assuring smile. Giggling, you stopped the whole room again, eyes and ears both fixated solely on you. Grabbing my hand almost forcefully, you swiftly maneuvered us into the French restaurant – our favourite. We stumbled in and caught our breaths, thankful again that we had – or rather you had, managed to escape yet another visual murder.

You ordered the usual, and I ordered mine. You were awfully quiet that day, I should have noticed – but I did not. Words spewed out of my mouth ignorantly like a waterfall, while you sat there, as still and as beautiful as a Madonna, constantly sighing and running your slender fingers in your hair till it looked almost like hay. Your foie gras was getting cold as it sat untouched on your plate, not counting the random places where you scarred it with your knife.

With a resounding clank, your knife landed on the fine china. I slurred on my words as I stopped mid-way in the one-sided conversation. You reached inside your Gucci designer handbag and groped about for your wallet, twisting your mouth into a conjecture. Yawning, you found it, pursed it open, fished out a handful of fifty dollar bills, and slapped it nonchalantly on the table.

“Let’s go, Pam.”

I was, as dumb as it sounds, glued to my seat. Yes, I knew you were filthy rich, but a hundred dollar tip on top of the three hundred dollar lunch? I stared openly as you sashayed out, and suddenly realized how hollow you looked. Skin hung on your bones for dear life as if, if you lost an ounce more of weight, your skin would tear apart and you would spill all over the pavement. You threw a casual glance back, as if checking to see if I had moved. Your eyes - your pupils were so diluted and black, as if you had closed the doors to your soul. I blinked, as if hoping to find you back where you were, the same as before, but I was greeted by the same deprived husk.

“Let’s go, Pam. Now.”

More heads turned as they got enchanted by your sing-song voice. But I would not be deceived. Hurt and sorrow etched into those words, as if you had spit them all out with acid. The clicks of your stilettos against the pavement got fainter and fainter with every passing second that I was seated. As your best friend, I definitely knew something was wrong, very wrong, indeed, but I just did not want to get up. Heads cocked over to glance at me now, as if questioning, how could I have resisted such a Goddess?

…

A few days ago, you stormed into my house, unannounced. You plopped yourself on my leather sofa and the floodgates just opened. I bent down beside you, hugging you, keeping you safe with me. I had let you cry your heart out, providing four-ply tissues, your preference, at regular intervals. The sofa squeaked and moaned under the sheer weight of you as you cried, shaking like a leaf in a storm.

“Hey, Abi, what’s wrong.”

Your chest stopped heaving up and down so drastically and the huge sobs down toned to whimpering.

“It’s Mic, he’s a bastard. He cheated on me. He’d rather that bitch, whoever she is, than me. He’s called off our engagement party. He called off our relationship.”

The waterworks started again, and this time I said nothing. I did not hold you, I did not console you. Because I knew, I was that bitch.

“Oh Pam, I don’t want to live anymore. He was my life. He is my life!”

...

The sound of screeching tires pulled me back to the moment. I was still in the restaurant, but this time, I jolted straight up, almost knocking my chair over in the process. I tore past the annoyed glares, the inquisitive glances. My hair slapped my face continuously and tears streamed down uncontrollably as my legs twisted and knotted themselves together, not used to the breakneck speed at which I was sprinting at.

I stopped in my tracks, almost knocking myself over with that sudden action. Putrid smells of salt and rust filled the air and flared up my nostrils – without doubt, blood. Dark, billowing clouds of greenhouse gases clouded my view, ear-piercing sounds and pungent smells of burning rubber was witnessed. I waited impatiently for the thick layers of clouds to peel away, and that was when my heart leaped out of my body.

Scraped metal and shards of pristine glass were spewed all across the cross junction, punctured tires were heaving under the sheer heat of the raging fire that had just sparked. People, if you could still call them that, were broken and twisted, hanging over each other as if in a game of grotesque Twister.

I lunged toward the scene. I knew you were there, I just knew. I slapped myself on my forehead. How could I have been so ignorant? First, I betray you in the most inhumane way possible, and now I ignore the signs and clues you were so opening dropping at my feet? I did not deserve to be your best friend, much less your friend.

Shots of concern hurtled at me as my hand clasped tightly over my mouth, and all colour drained from my face. There you were, squashed in the middle between someone else and a side door from a Jeep. Your curls were flat and dead, dyed red from your blood that was profusely gushing out from that large gash embedded in your forehead. Your eyes were closed, your face smudged with dirt. Torn and begrimed, your clothes were a gone case. In the background, wails of ambulance and police sirens resounded but they could not help you. Your legs were twisted beneath you in weird angles, your stomach had another gash to compliment the gigantic one on your forehead, and your face was as pale as a sheet. Pain seemed to envelope you in a tightening blanket, not determined to let you go as it continued to suck the little life out of what was left of you.

I buckled to my knees, because I had just killed you.
xoxo 11:40 PM