If You Are Reading This, I Am Dead.

"No..."

The whisper of my cry was silently blocked out against the much louder, sharper cry of the two guns. My whole body seemed to tremble, yet my heart was frozen, and my gaze was transfixed, focused upon the eyes of Him. They were wide open, glossy with blood dripping onto them. A stray piece of hair was somewhat covering his left eye, but that was only where the blood wasn't.

He was dead. Gone. The love of my life was taken, freed from this hell, along with his best friend, and so many others that they had taken that day. Why hadn't they told me? Why hadn't I known that this was going to happen? Why was I so slow to realize that their lives were short to end?

'Why' was the only thought grazing my mind as I slowly walk over to their bodies, propped up against the door of the school, holding two guns, holes running through their heads. I touched Danny's cheek carefully. A drop of blood got on my hand, but I didn't care. He used to be the warmest person I had ever known, and now he was cold. I studied every feature of him, from his long hair, brown, yet now blood stained, partially tangled around the bullet wound, down to his eyes, his deathly stare, once hazel balls of life, now empty. I followed the angle of his cheekbones down to his lips. Normally they were pulled down, frowning. But for once, they were a smile.

A beautiful, glowing smile.

I shut my eyes and grasped the thought of what had happened. Both Danny and Max were dead. My love, and my closest friend. I never thought anything would pull us apart. I never thought twice about there jokes about suicide and mass murder. But today they thought differently.

They thought to kill the school.

----------------------------------------------------------

Locking myself in my room was the best thing I could have ever done for myself. I didn't want to see anyone, I just wanted to do two things : Listen to music, and try to figure out why.

Two simple, simple things that could never be so easy. Nothing is easy, after all. It'd been only a day since the.... shooting, but my heart still seemed frozen, colder than Danny's body.

I wrapped myself in music. Normally, it cleared my mind and was a salvation to everything, yet now the words seemed to choke me. For some reason choking was a lot better than the real pain it was covering up.

My mind was starting to race again. I had always known Danny and Max hated the school, hated life, hated everything, but they would never do something like this. At least, thats what I thought. Thats what I always thought. Up until now, life had been a joke, just a little game. But now I realized it wasn't a joke, everything was real.

I heard a knock at my door. I didn't turn towards it, I had heard it knocking every hour or so since I got home after the police said I was unharmed. This was, of course, after they pulled me off of Danny and away from Max. I knew my mom wanted to talk about it, or show me a paper, but those were the last thing I needed. Grief of the city from the families who lost their children, heroic articles honoring those who had died, short interviews with people bashing the only two people I ever really cared about.

Like I wanted to read the paper.

My mom was persistent, however, and she finally gave in and opened the door. I didn't look up at her, I was too busy staring down at the picture of Danny, Max, and me. I looked happy, but now that I thought about it, Danny and Max looked troubled. In fact, the first time I think I ever saw them smile was yesterday.

Mom looked down at me. I could feel her eyes on the back of my neck. She sighed, and I heard her drop a package on my bed.

"Sweetie, I know you are.... a bit shaken up right now.... but this came for you in the mail today, and I thought you might want it."

I slowly blinked. I never got anything in the mail. I looked up at her, then down at the package. As if she could read my mind, she left, leaving me alone in my room with a new friend, the package.

I looked it over carefully. No return address, nothing giving it a hint at all of where it came from, just a local post office stamp. I traced my finger over my name. "NELLY BERON" was written in big caps. The handwriting seemed familiar, yet my brain wouldn't let me process it.

I pulled a knife from my desk and slowly cut open the package. I flipped open the package to see a simple stack of journals. Normal looking journals.

Nothing special.

Yet I knew something was up here. Who would send me just a bunch of journals? No one. So I picked up the first one. It was simple, a black composition book, like the ones at any old store. I opened the cover, and my heart slowly started to melt.

I recognized the handwriting. I knew what this was.

"If you are reading this, I am dead."