They say I look like her, that girl that died. They're right. 

We both have the same chest length brown hair, the same almond shaped eyes, tanned skin, red lips and short figure. We were, in other words, identical.

People look at me in the street now, their head tilts sideways and they looked puzzled, watching me with a rather blank expression until something clicks inside them and I see their eyes widen as their gaze follows my every move. More then once someone has walked up to me, calling her name softly in a questioning like manner. 

"Kirstie?"

"I'm June" I would repeat every time, giving them a small frown and pulling my hood up over my head. That's the only time they don't recognize me, when I'm frowning. All the pictures that had been splashed over the news for the last few months had been the same, her smiling, cheerful, happy carefree.

June. That was the difference between us. I was born in June, ironic I know. While she was born in May, early May. I think we might have been friends, if I'd known her.