“hey” I turn my head. She couldn’t be talking to me. She never talked to me, until now, my hands soaked with blood. She talks. finally I see it, the light they always told me was coming. It was nothing, there was no point to doing what I had done. It didn’t matter. She could say anything now, but it wouldn’t matter, what’s done is done. It didn’t matter. She could talk about me, who I was, how I smiled and handed her a pencil the first day. But those lies don’t effect me here, they are just a whisper calling me back, but I will never go back. She could tell the truth. That was always an option. She could have taken the blame instead of shoving it off on me. Could have been nice as every one sees her, as I once saw her. The whisper calls me back, shrugging it off I refuse to go back to my body as they desperately try to “save” me. I am already dead, but they don’t know that. It is sweet at the end knowing that my true friends will be there in the back row, frozen in thought. Meanwhile she will be talking about how close we were and how kind I was. How she tried to help. To anyone that will listen, to cameras, and mourners, she will tell the story of how she tried to save me. They will nod, cry and greet her as a hero. Never will they know the truth.