Dear Lauren,

I come baring news. It's not fun news.

Someone died. Her name was Jade. That's a pretty name. She seemed super fun and nice. We probably would have gotten along. Too bad I didn't have a chance to talk to her before this.

Tomorrow I'll go to school and I'll be sad. Maybe all that pantomime stuff we had to learn in theater will finally come in useful. I don't want to explain if anyone asks.

I know she liked football (soccer for us American weirdos). It's hard. I wonder if there's a field for her to play in heaven or whatever afterlife she went to.

I have a story in the back of my head. Maybe that'll be just what the people being sad will need. Maybe I'll even try to enter it into a writing competition just to see how far she can get.

Anyways, I'll start writing tomorrow. It's past bedtime according to my mom. As if that matters. As if I won't be pulled into another nightmare when I close my eyes. As if I won't wake up in the middle of the night crying again.

Bitterness is starting to make a home in me. It feels a little like poison, dooming me to a slow and painful death.

Great, I'm speaking in fancy again. This is what I get for reading a book made in the 1800s. Not like it'll last much longer. So many pages are falling out tape can't save them now.

What if there's no heaven, no reincarnation, no nothing? But you know what? I'm not even going to try and think about that today. If I do, the tears'll come and they won't stop.