"She died." Murmurs of those words rushed through the school.

"She died last night in her bed." More gossip passing around.

I didn't believe them.

I refuse to believe them.

It was impossible, she couldn't have died. It's a scam, a lie, a prank she pulled-anything but the truth.

It was until I went to her funeral, saw her in a coffin, locked inside a box that resembled a glass display case, and lowered into her grave, did reality hit me over the head.

No tears came, everyone else was sobbing their hearts out, but me, no tears whatsoever. I loved her, yes, she was everything I dreamt of, yes, but I couldn't cry. The sadness and regret weighing upon me was too depressing to make me form tears. My throat went dry, my fists clenched and unclenched themselves. The sight of her buried in the ground was too horifying for me to bear. I ran away before the funeral ended.

It was raining, not light, not heavy, but stormy. The sky dark and the sun gone. Rain spitter spattered onto the cold hard cement. I kept running, because I thought, maybe if I kept running, I'd run back to the past, I'd be able to rewind and redo it. I ran til my legs burnt, and breathing in pants. The rain had drenched both my clothes and my hair, the weather was stormy and regretting, portraying my mood perfectly.

I stumbled in the muddy grass, my knees planting themselves into the sloshy mud. And I looked up at the sky, the clouds; God, cursing him with every nerve in my body for killing her, cursing him for having her leave me. The lighting and thuder seemed to growl back in response, blaming it on me. 'It's your fault for wasting every second I gave you not doing anything. You are the creater of this.' And deep inside, I knew, I knew that the thuder and lighting, and the rain was just my punishment, because I deserved it, this punishment was nothing compare to the one inside my heart, because I knew, that I had waste every second God gave me and thrown it away like trash. Because I knew, the reason I was in the middle of a field soaked with rain was because of my cowardice. It was me.