The Writing Competition

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Hosted by: flexibility.

Theme: Friendship
Section: 2, Essay

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. But no tears could flow, because ghosts cannot cry. Still, I could feel and experience emotions like how all humans do and I knew the reason why you were not here anymore, why you had to share the same fate as me. 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 happened wherever you went, whenever people saw 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 drowning in their mystique. 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. The luscious curls that once bounced off your back so enthusiastically now grew limp and seemed to have lost its shine, despite the obvious expensive preen. 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, under my wing. 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 toned down 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 – and a very bad one at that. As mentioned time and time again, people could not help but irrevocably fall in love with you, but I just had to. I had to tear through the remarkably thick bond you two shared, shred it away painstakingly, layer by layer, desperately, using any underhand means I could get my hands on. All this because I was jealous, jealous of you.

“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.

Tears swamped my eyes as I threw my arms around me, as if trying to keep myself from breaking apart. The coarse gravel bit into my knees as I stayed cemented to the road, right in front of you. My mind drew a blank as I regurgitated my thoughts over and over. ‘I had just killed you. I had just killed you, Abigail Cladston, my best friend since we were five.’ The neckline of my shirt was wet now, be it with sweat or tears, it did not matter anyway. My khaki pants were stained dark red with blood at the knees as I pressed down even harder into the stones, as if I could pave a hole or tunnel in which I could crawl into and forget all of this, in which I could turn back time.

“Get away, Miss!”
“Move it! Move away, mad woman!”
“Please, miss, there’s a car coming!”

My chest heaved unevenly as I started hyperventilating and my heart palpitated. ‘What have I done? What kind of a friend am I? What do I really think of friendship?’ My throat hurt as if I was grinding sandpaper on it and I really wanted to dig my eyeballs out now. I slammed my hands on the road, almost hitting you in the process. Slowly, unsteadily, I tried to get up, only to get hit by an oncoming Subaru sports car.

…

My eyelids pressed down as if they were made of lead. I don’t want to wake up. I was so tired. My muscles seemed to have liquefied, because no matter how much effort I put in, I just could not lift anything, not even my little finger.

Doctors and nurses swamped in from all directions, all walking briskly, albeit quietly. Orders were shot and bounced off the room, sending the swift nurses into a hunting frenzy.

“Quick, I need blood. She’s losing blood fast. At this rate, she’s going to die.”
“But it’s too late. Her brain’s already dead, or close. If we don’t put her on life support, she really will be. Brain- dead that is.”
“Ok, let’s just put her on life support till her condition stabilizes.”

The buzzing stopped, everyone slowed down their pace. The sickly, green curtains were pulled back, and people bowed their heads.

I could not feel anything, still. But this time, it felt worse. I felt as if my insides have been turned inside-out, as if someone had stuck a large tube into my head. It was pounding, pounding so hard. And my heart, even though no one knew, it was bleeding.

…

“Pamela, can you hear me?”
“Y..yes..”
“I’m Doctor Sig. How are you feeling now?”
“It hurts. It hurts so much, Doctor.”
“Ah yes, well I’ve already prescribed the painkillers and I presume they will be fed to you in a while. In the meantime, I just want you to get some rest. And whatever you do, don’t touch the machine ok? You’re still not strong enough to get off it.”

I had been in a car accident, just like you. Except that you were in one, because of me. Every single painful memory came flooding back, rushing like mad to me. The saucy nights with Mic; the chain lying; the acting; the putting on a mask everyday. I could not stand it anymore. Everything weighed down heavily and forcefully on my conscience, threatening to break the bare thread of it.

Summoning up the little energy I had left, I reached across the vast distance from my bed to the life-support machine. My fingers swiped the air a few times before I successfully clinched the wire. ‘What have I done? What kind of a friend am I? What do I really think of friendship?’ Everything repeated in my head, as if it was on replay. What do I really think of friendship? Of our friendship? Well, I thought that it deserved another shot, to be saved from the scraps. Because I had loved you Abigail, and I still do. You were my best friend since we were both five. A bond like that can never be broken. A bond like that can never be lost. And now I have to make it up to you, because I am your best friend. I would do whatever it takes to atone for all the shit I did to you, all those damnable deeds.

And so, with a final deep breath, I tugged the wire. Then everything was gone, and I saw you, smiling back at me.


The End
xoxo 9:17 PM