Stranger’s Manifesto

Entry 8

You think best friends know everything about each other.

You think I should have known what she was going to do.

You think she would’ve told me.

She did.

She did tell me.

But she’d been saying shit like that for years.

Years.

Talking death. Emo crap. Black eyeliner.

The whole bit.

Playing her game.

What’s the best way to die?

Being slammed on the train tracks?

Instantaneous.

But they’d find pieces of you for miles.

And what would your parents bury?

Slitting an artery?

Slower.

Pain not so bad.

But messy as hell.

And who cleans that up?

Gun in the mouth.

Quick.

Effective.

Also messy.

And where does a tenth grader get a gun?

Pills.

Easy to get. Easy to take.

But if nobody finds you, you choke on your own vomit.

Kind of repulsive.

She never mentioned hanging.

Never.

And she never said this was more than a game.

Never.

But I should have known.

A better friend would have known.

That’s my daily ride on the guilt train.

My mind circles the track

Over and over

The chugga-chugging

Sounding a whole helluva lot like

Shoulda-woulda, shoulda-woulda.

I can never get off that train.

It’s the worst when I’m in bed

And the silence of the house is suffocating.

The only way I can distract my brain

Is to plan

My next move.

There’s one thing I’ve learned from Jo—

That sometimes someone has to die

To make a point.