Thirty-First Post.

It's been announced... The death of a girl I went to school with, that I used to see every single day, that I used to sit next to. Found her name, found her face, and I remember. Ghostly whispers of cruel words that spewed her mouth. I remember snapping, slamming her against the cold cement walls, coming home bleeding and bruised that day. The verbal abuse that tore a hole through my defenses as a child. I remember this girl that is now dead because of Prosper, every cruel thing she did to me. Every single tear that was shed because of her, every thought... I remember, Annie.

I never got to tell you how you fucked me over as a child. How shit was already bad but you... You just made it so much worse. I remember the knife. I remember seeing red and you bleeding in the park that afternoon. I remember, do you hear me? I remember you.

And now you're dead and gone and I'm stuck wondering if I should be happy.

Thing is, Annie, I'm not happy. I'm not relieved you've dropped dead, that your family is mourning you, because I'm not like that. I will never be like that. I won't be like you when you smiled at the deaths of my kin. I'm not going to go to your family and tell them how much of a brat you were, skew their image of their daughter. I'm not happy you are dead because now you will never know the rage and the misery and all the fucking confusion you made me feel. You will never be able to comprehend now just how you distorted my mind. How many times I had to question why no one was helping, why your friends helped you and not me, why no one did a fucking thing when they all knew what was happening, why you hated me but I never did a goddamn thing.

I see now, though, Annie. Little... Blonde... Annie. I see now you never hated me. You just hated yourself and you died hating yourself. And I think now to myself that maybe that's a fitting punishment for you, for all the pain done unto me and others. I think I'll let your memory remain in this world as the loving daughter who was good at sports, at cheerleading, the whore behind the curtains of the stage. I think I'll let that sit and stay. But we know better, Annie. You and I and all the others I tried to defend from you, we all know what you were. And now you're dead, and you're going to stay dead forever hating yourself.

Rest In Peace, Annie, for you sure as hell never made any for yourself while you were here.