You Did This

Everyone thought I had a good life, I was happy and my family was wealthy. So, when they teased me, when they said those things, they didn't think it would effect me at all. They were wrong. You were wrong. This is what your words did to me, this is how you killed me. My name was Sarrah, and this is how I died.


1. Hello. My name is Sarrah.

Hello. My name is Sarrah. I'm sixteen, with dirty-blonde hair and hazel eyes. I'm tall and slim, and you could say I'm pretty except for two things about me. Number one: I have an unfortunate birthmark on my cheek. Number two:

I'm dead.

Yeah, yeah, I know. That's probably a big thing right? I mean, being dead totally changed my life. For one thing, no one teases me anymore. Strange the difference in people's views of you before and after you die. I mean, before, when I was alive, no one made it through a conversation about me without mentioning my face, but now, when they talk about me at all, it's only to mention how terrible my passing was, how sad the death of a young girl was, how much potential I had.

The best part is when, every once and a while, the kids from my old school talk about me. It's been a few years now, so they've graduated and moved on, but my legacy lives with them - as does my essence, or soul, or spirit or whatever you call me. One of the first stories the freshman every year hear is in a lecture about anti-bullying. Every year it gets more and more exagerated, more and more horrible. And, every once and a while, someone in my old classmates' new lives mentions the story of my death. Turns out I was a much bigger deal dead than alive.

Who knew, right?


Oh, wait, I'm off track, aren't I? You probably want to know how I died first, don't you? Well, that the easy part.

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