A Studentss Guide to First-Year Writing :: Personal Narrative Suicide Death

A Studentss take place to First-Year WritingNow, and at the Hour I was non with You I. Laurie is call again, You are not with me, she says. Wait, Rae, dont move. I watch the silver-tongued image of the Virgin Mary on a swaying chain virtually her neck as she snaps the shutter to trap me in black and white. Laurie is the lensman of our little society Michael is the sculptor, Stacy and I are the painters, and George has had a thing for action art lately. Were smoking cigarettes in the moldy bowling alley. George says Im bored of this- all of it. Everydays the same shit. We lease to fucking do something before my skin rots off. Laurie is quiet, but Mike shrugs his shoulders, What do you propose that we do, George? I dont know, rob a bank, be punk rock and roll and spread some anarchy... man, I dont know, just anything. I look at Laurie. Shes quiet. I drive to the bathroom to take her from Georges little angst party. We stand together in the stall, so I kiss her and touch h er hair and say, You okay, sweetie? Do you want the truth? she asks. I nod and she replies, No, Rae, Im not okay. Im really very, very not okay. Im losing my shit over absolutely nothing... Rae, I just cant do it anymore. Ive heard Laurie like this before it makes my stomach go sharp and black because I want her to be okay. I accept her to be okay. But she hurts so deep her depressions come in torrents. Her weeping stream the Chanel foundation off of her cheeks into puddles on her black dress, all in such slow motion. She brings a bottle from her bag, clicking and childproof, to her burgundy lips and then shares it with me. We return to the convocation with hydracodone breath, so that the rest of the day will be a ill-considered opiate dream. You are not with me. You are not with me. None of you. You stand most and let words drool out of your lips. You speak of punk rock and of anarchy, but you dont even care... about anything. You dont even care. You cant even see me crying. You say, Laurie, you okay, sweetie?