Dead Like Me

I drummed my red nails on the wooden table, bored to tears with the conversation taking place around me, could these people be any more unbearably dull? As the speakers progressed, I realized that, yes, they could, and were, and it made me want to cry, sob, or maybe get sent to Azkaban for the murder of my class mates, over breakfast. What a sad way to die, at the brink of a new day, with out even getting to explore its possibilities for a new chance at learning.

I glanced over at my long time friend, Ron; lately he had withdrawn from things, especially talking to people, me in particular. I was relatively sure that I hadn't done anything to warrant such cold treatment, but then again, I wasn't him, so I couldn't be exactly sure. I flashed him a brief smile before returning to the muffin that I'd only half finished with a disheartened interest, suddenly it looked only mildly as delicious as it had before I had gotten trapped in my new train of thought. Well, now it was derailed and it was time to move on with my day.

I moved listlessly through my day, in a trance of taking notes, and thinking of how to straighten out my miserable wretch of a life. About three quarters of the way through history of magic, a barn owl swooped through the open door and through Professor Binns before settling itself down on my, up until that point, pristinely written notes, scratching the ink that hadn't quite finished drying just in time to leave marks all over my paper. I looked warily at it, questioning its exact purpose, aside from ruining my notes; I would just have to ask Professor Binns for help after class, even though the simple idea of having to sit through that lecture again brought a yawn to my lips.

I then remembered what owls were used for in the first place, with a bit of help from the note tied to its leg. I carefully reached over my ruined notes slowly, so that I wouldn't startle the creature or provoke it for that manner, and untied the twine that held the note in place. I carefully unrolled the note and began to read:

"To whom it may concern,

On the twelfth day in the month of December, a fire consumed the house of residents Mr. and Mrs. Granger. They were trapped inside, and did not escape the flaming house in time to survive. Their funeral will be held In Midland Park, on December 23. Please send a reply in regards to your ability to attend the aforementioned funeral.

Sincerely,

Renee M. Willis"

I stared at the paper in miserable disbelief, biting down on my bleeding lower lip. Shakily, I stood and managed to drag myself to the front of the room, resorting to speaking to capture Binns attention, before showing him the note and leaving class, and all of my things, behind.

I made it to my dormitory, and fell onto my stiff, well made bed, with out a second thought to changing into my pajamas, only to cry myself to sleep for a few hours. When I woke, I was determined to get through this tragic turn of events in my life. I trudged down the longest flight of stairs that I could ever remember, or maybe they just seemed longer now. When I made it to the common room, I saw Ian, my caring boyfriend of about three weeks, looking concernedly at me from the couch, so, in an effort at being polite, I walked over to him and sat down on the couch beside him. He let me lean into him, and gently rested his hand on my shoulder, in an attempt to comfort me, but it didn't work. I quietly asked him if we could go somewhere more private to speak, and he let me lead him out of the room and down the stairs, to an empty hall way. I opened my mouth, preparing to tell him about how my whole day was wrong, no not my day, my life, when a loud crash, followed with a scream, cut me off. I froze for a moment, remembering the terror of second year, before dashing down the hallway, towards the source of the noise.

After that, everything ran together, like a blur, and I can hardly remember running to get Madam Pomfrey, or sending Ian to, I can't recall. I do, however, remember spending most of the remaining night by the bedside of my best friend, because it was him who fell, and he was lucky he didn't die on impact, but we weren't sure that he would make it through the night, and the last thing I needed was another person dying on me before I got to say good bye. I remember the exact moment when he opened his eyes, and squinted up at me, and all I could do was stare at him, amazed that he was still alive. In that moment I realized that during the time that we were not speaking, I had lost him, that he was only an acquaintance now, not the closest friend I could ever have, like he was before.

I felt a tug at my hand, and Ian led me out the door, reminding me that I had seen what I had come for, to make sure he was alright, and now I needed my sleep. Only then did it occur to me that it was 2 'o clock in the morning, time just seemed to stand still while I was waiting. I got led to the stairs, and with a brief kiss on my forehead, I was sent to my room to recover form the day, and prepare for the days ahead.

The next morning I awoke to the sound of "You are my Sunshine" coming from the direction of my desk, and when I looked over, a ceramic carousel stood, revolving peacefully on my desk. I picked up the note with disdain, because I was sick of notes and letters telling me everything, but it read for me to meet Ian in about a half hours time. I dashed to get dressed, and ran to the place he had prescribed as the meeting place, because I hated being late. Unfortunately, my sprinting was not enough, I still only arrived on time, and as my, now deceased, mother always used to say, if you're early you're on time, if you're on time you're late, and if you're late you're in trouble. I opened the unlatched door and ambled in, only to find a gruesome sight awaiting me, and it wouldn't sink into my mind. Sitting on a rickety wooden chair was Ian, but he was cover in blood, and not moving, or breathing. He was dead.

I ran over to his body, tears already leaving my eyes, mixing with his blood, every where. I was crying so hard that I couldn't see anything except shapes and shadows, and then I saw something move right behind the chair. It was tall, and its outline looked like a persons. I wiped my eyes enough that I could begin to see, and I blinked hard to clear my eyes, and that's when I saw him. The man that killed the one person that I truly had left stepped out of the shadows and it was Ron.

I wouldn't have believed it, if it weren't for the blood on his hand, red and marking him as the one who had done this, this despicable thing. I screamed at him, asking how he could have done this, how he could just kill another person like that.

"I did this for us," he replied, "so that we could be together forever. Because I love you." I stared at him in disbelief. How could he think that this could bring us together, to kill someone, not just any one, but someone I loved? I yelled, my voice cracking, that I could never love him, the monster that he was, and that I never would.

He told me that he knew I loved him, and that I had to, or he would die. That was fine with me, and I told him so. A person like him deserved to die, for what they had done. And he did. He walked over, grabbed a knife that laid on the stone cold floor, and impaled himself on it. And I couldn't look away; it was like a train wreck, horrible and terrifying, yet strangely interesting, almost hypnotic.

I didn't die that day, or the next. I didn't die for a long time from then, at least not on the outside, but I died that day, and nothing could truly bring me back. Not my friends, or my other family, or teachers, or all the love, or attention, or money in the world. I was dead to any thing and everything that I had once held dear, because all of them were dead, dead like me.