She loved that black ribbon. She wore it in her hair every single day. When she wore her hair up with that black ribbon in it, it made her face look thinner. Then I realized her face really was getting thinner.
After that, I didn't see her for a long time. Not at school, not in the neighborhood—she was nowhere to be found. She didn't answer my calls or my texts, and I was starting to get worried about her.
One day, to make a final statement, she came to school. This time, there was no black ribbon in her hair. This time, there was no hair for the black ribbon to be tied into.
Everyone was shocked when they found out that it was really her. She looked skeletal, and her skin was a sickly gray color.
Maybe that's because she was really, really sick.
I was the only person she would talk to. I was the only person that would listen.
I hugged her tight while she cried into my shirt that day, feeling her ribs poke in against my skin. She was never like this before.
I hugged her tight while she told me that she had blood cancer at first, and then it spread to her brain. That all she had was a ten percent chance of surviving it all.
She didn't go to school again after that day.
Then one night she texted me right after I got home from school and told me to go to the park at midnight. Of course, I told her I would.
So that night I got to the park, and I was excited to see her again.
But it wasn't what I thought it was going to be.
I had to look for her for a while before I found her out there.
She was laying on the ground in front of a bench. The black ribbon was tied around her neck in a bow. Her eyes were closed, never to open again. Attached to the end of the ribbon was a small note.
"I should have told you."
I stared at it for a second, and then untied the ribbon from her neck. The wind was blowing, so I let go of it and watched it drift away.
I stared out into the darkness for a while before walking back home, leaving her body there.
I still don't really know what the note meant, and I'm not sure I want to.