As Olivia walks through the field on a mission to get to her familiar destination, she reflects upon the changes in her life. But where is she going? Why today? This enchanting short story is one that will captivate you, and stay with you long after you have read it.


3. The End


I suppose it was then that I started changing. I began wearing make-up – foundation too heavy for my delicate skin and eyeliner which made my eyes look dull and lifeless. My skirts got higher and my grades got lower. I started hanging around with the wrong people. I traded my beautiful brunette locks for a bleach blonde and backcombed disaster. Hugs became kisses and kisses became snogs. My sister was growing up, and I convinced myself I was too, although all I was doing was masking my pain.


I can see it now, my destination. Yet another small group of people looking down. But I know, unlike I did a year ago, that this is the right group of people. I'm getting tired now, ready to rest, but I must be there, I must. What kind of person would I be if I missed the one year anniversary? What kind of person am I at all?


I wore a purple skirt far too short, and a blouse far too tight. I was so glad I made it when I got there. Only now do I wish I’d listened to my mum when she told me I was grounded, and didn’t sneak out to the party. The music was too loud, the drinks were too strong, and there were too many faces I didn’t recognise. But he was there. I’d do anything to impress him. I even took the tablet he gave out. Right in front of him, to show him how strong I really was. He just laughed, didn’t even give me a second glance. I supposed I would have said something if I didn’t feel so dizzy. My head was spinning, the room became a blur. I tried to get to the door, surely fresh air would help, right? But I couldn’t seem to find the floor. I did eventually though. I hit my head on a table on the way down, but I found it. Some laughed, some gasped, some ran to my side to try and stop the bleeding. But it was too late by then, I’d already drifted.


Finally I’m here, looking down at the place that I rest six feet under. I read the words ‘Here lies Olivia Lee Porter. A Loving Daughter and Sister.’ I look at Laura, sobbing silently. She still blames herself. I try everything to tell her it’s not her fault, but she can’t hear me now. I look at my parents, who are still struggling to come to terms with the loss of their daughter. I smile to myself as my mother places a purple lily at the head of my grave. I look into the wide, innocent eyes of Poppy, my now five year old sister. She may be too young to understand, but she still remembers me. And as I look at her brunette pig tales with the ribbon only Laura could do, I finally realise Laura didn’t forget about me, just like she won’t forget about Poppy. I pray to God Poppy knows this too, and doesn’t turn into what I became. Although they can’t see me, I stand silently with them looking to where I lay, becoming the missing piece to the broken family.

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