Chapter One

He was hopeless and he was a loner, but there was one person he allowed by his side. But now that he's gone, he needs to learn to face the world himself.

Bullying is harmful and damaging, but it is also part of nature. With youth comes hate, which grows from ignorance. Ignorance of the damaged, the broken, and the frayed.

 

His mind was still in too much of a haze to fully understand or even accept what had happened. He had not been formally invited to the event, but he knew that she would want him there, although no one else did. Maybe she knew that. He would not be welcomed at the viewing so she made him the first to see her corpse.

The very people that looked down at him surrounded the six-foot hole, looking down on something else and blocking his view. Not that he wanted to see it; he had seen enough. He stood back. Way back, off the graveyard property and watched them from the hedges.

As he stood there watching tears flow for her, his mind had halted and was empty for once. Surely, this was a dream. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be happening.

 “If she could see these people crying for her, would she still have done it?” He mumbled quietly to himself with his thumb between his lips.

Her mother screamed and begged to the heavens for her first born back. She had just regained custody, and now, it was gone forever.

 Imogen did not have a close relationship with her biological father who signed away all his rights, but even he showed and wept for his daughter as the dirt piled on top of her.

Even the clouds wept for her. During the summer in California, it would take a true tragedy for the gods to cry, and each one shed a tear.

Students of all ages mourned her. Most of them didn’t know her and came from the next town over to show their respects, while her own friends practically buried her themselves.

Even their principal pretended to care. She dressed in an all-black pants suit with a teal and purple ribbon stuck to her breast. After ignoring all of Imogen’s pleads, she needed to look good for the press, yet none showed. There were no flashing lights nor microphones being shoved in their faces. The suicide of a young girl meant nothing to them, even though her life meant everything to him.

It had been the first time in many years that he had to wear a suit. He had outgrown the one he wore once before as a child and had to get another just for this special event. He had a freshly cut rose tucked into the pocket on his breast.

Standing outside of a graveyard and wearing black along with his black and messy hair, his large, empty, and almost completely round eyes that always had a dark shadow underneath almost made him look like Death himself, like he was the very one to reap her soul then returned to watch.

Most of the people gathered around Imogen’s grave never met her nor heard her story.

Imogen spent her entire life jumping from foster home after foster home, just like Wilder. In fact, that was how they met; trapped in the dark and gloomy basement where they had been placed.

The fake crowd did not stay nearly as long as the ones who actually cared for her did, or at least, now care for her. They never acted like they did before she died. But even some of those who used to care no longer to do. Instead of mourning, they bashed and insulted her, acting like they knew the slightest thing about her. Selfish was the last thing that she was.

“This was the only thing she had ever done for herself.”

As the crowd scattered and started leaving the lot, Wilder made sure to duck and hide inside of the hedges that bordered the entire graveyard. Pairs of feet stopped in front of the bushes and stayed there while they started to speak of their next plans, erasing Imogen from their lives.

Now, all he could do was wait there and wonder. He had his hand close to his mouth, bit onto the nail of his thumb, and mumbled quietly to himself, allowing the rustling of the bushes to hide his voice.

He must have wondered too long. When he came to, he was alone.

It was now his turn to pay his respects.

The graveyard was not as dark and satanic looking as movies liked to depict. He had known that for a while though. Imogen was not the only person he knew buried here, but she was the only one he intended to pay respects to.

 Many of the tombstones that he passed had flowers around them, except for one he walked past that had racial slurs drawn on it. That one was surrounded by feces that looked too big to be from a dog. The tombstone said his cause of death was also suicide. Surely, Wilder had no need to wonder why. Although, he did wonder if he was treated that badly when he was alive or if the people around him were cowards like Imogen’s family. True colors aren’t usually shown until the chances of repercussions are diminished.

Imogen’s tombstone was the most extravagant. Her parents spared no expense. They had plenty left after not spending any on her when she was alive.

Engraved into the stone was her wide and seemingly happy smile, but underneath was the date of her birth and the date of her demise.

Wilder sat down on the freshly packed dirt with his back against her tombstone, hugging his knees. It may have been her engraved into the stone, but he could not believe that she was the one resting below him.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could mutter. He hung his head low and let the water from his hair drip.

The clouds had stopped sulking long before he did.

Drip…drip…drop…