June 11th

I've been debating between writing about Sylvia more or perhaps more flash fiction. You'd figure I would have made this decision before I sat down to type, but that would just make sense, and I'm not really one for making sense. I still have a bunch of 750 words to catch up on, but I'll deal with that at another time. For now I'll just worry about the words for today. I'll just pick another picture and write a story.

Every time they look at me I can feel what they're thinking. They edge away from me, take the long way so they don't have to cross my path. Every single one of them is terrified of me. Worried that what I am, what I can do, is contagious. Mother's pull away their children and more than once a restaurant or store has turned down my money. Even the churches, supposedly places of peace and solace, have refused me entry. I wish I cared as little as I tell people I do. I wish that it didn't burn a hole in my chest each time someone who used to be my friend makes a quick excuse not to see me, or avoids my phone calls, or turns the other way on the street.

They say I bring half of it on myself, dressing the way that I do. They say that if I didn't look like some vampiric princess; all black dresses and red lips, that people might actually get over all the rest. They forget, or want me to, that when this all started I didn't dress this way. When it all began two years ago, I wore jeans and t-shirts like everyone else. I didn't change my clothes until the whispers began, until best friends were suddenly always busy, until the first day "Witch" was spray painted on my locker. That's when I figured that I might as well look the part, since people were going to treat me that way regardless. At first I relished in the way they looked at me, the little spark of fear in their eyes, it served them right for turning their backs on me. Now, I'm just too tired to care. Even Mother barely speaks to me, and when she does she refuses to acknowledge the existence of all the rest. She pretends that I'm just a normal teenage girl, acting out by wearing Gothic clothing, even though we both know I'm anything but normal.

When Stacy died I thought my heart would never mend. It didn't matter to me that I was adopted, that we weren't sisters by blood, I loved her more than anything. At first I was angry that she left me with Mother, who looked at me strangely even back then, but as the days went by anger faded into sadness. I didn't move from my bed for weeks, couldn't even go to the funeral. I refused to accept that Stacy was really gone. I'd spend my nights dreaming that I went to that party with her, that I drove home when she got drunk, that we made it safely to our beds, that she awoke the next morning with nothing more serious than a hangover. When I finally reached the point that I could accept that Stacy was gone, she came to me.

The first time it happened I was in my room. It was late at night and the glimpse of her I got in the mirror was obviously my mind playing tricks on me. I didn't think much of it until the trick repeated the next morning. When she was staring me down, pale and winged, in the middle of the school playground, I finally had to acknowledge that what I was seeing was real. I was thrilled beyond belief, so thrilled that I made the worst mistake of my life; I told someone. I was so happy to have Stacy back that I didn't think twice about sharing what I'd found, and once I acknowledged Stacy, they all started coming. Soon I met more of the dead while walking to school than I did the living.

I can feel Stacy's arms around my shoulders right now. She's telling me that I'm doing good, that I'm helping those who are dead. I try to believe that, and a part of me does believe that, but another part of me fights it. That part of me remembers what life was like before I saw them, the happiness I had, and misses it. The price for keeping Stacy has been the lose of every living friend I ever had. Yet, as I look at her face, and the happy faces of those around her, I realize it's a price I'm willing to pay. After all, these are friends I'll have for eternity.
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Until tomorrow.