My mother always told me I was sensitive. It wasn't my fault. She said I used to cry when the other boys pulled the girls hair. I didn't like people much. They scared me. I was small and I didn't like the kids who would break my crayons in two and corner girls by the bathrooms.
I kept my head down. I was afraid of people.
Maybe that's why I liked Rose so much.
I'd never spoken to her. She was in the year below me. I used to see her sometimes. She never looked at me. But she wasn't like the other girls. She wasn't like anyone really. I felt a terrible ache in my chest the day the school announced her death. I felt as if I'd lost a friend. But I never even knew her.
People began to say I'd looked sad since she died. Rumours that I had slept with her spread. I ignored them. I didn't care.
I suppose I was just scared. I don't know what of.
The other kids pinched my arms and told me to cheer up.
No one really cared though.
Not even after Rose.
So I kept my head down.
YOU ARE READING
Why Rose died.
General FictionIt wasn't the chaos. It was the silence. The silence in her head. It was the silence in her mind that drowned her. She had grown empty long before she ended the war. She had nothing left to live for.
