FallenAngel2

I made it to Jack's house and knocked on the door. No one answered. I saw his car in the driveway a knew he never walked around. He had to be home. I knocked harder. Louder, but still no answer came. Then I got a feeling in my gut, I was so scared. Scared enough to push his door open and let myself in.1

"Jack!" I screamed. "Jack, where are you?"2

I checked the first two rooms before his and didn't find him. He was not in his own either. I knocked on the bathroom and no answer came, but the door fell open. I didn't want to look, for fear he was using it for hygienic purposes, but what came to my eyes was worse than I could ever imagine. 3

I saw him face down on the floor. His little brother's ritalin scattered around him. He must have overdosed. I hurried down and laid him on his back and tried mouth to mouth. It was no use. He was gone for good. 4

His lifeless body was cold, but I laid my head on his chest and cried. I cried hard, for the only friend who'd stayed with me when things were tough. I just wished I could have been as much of a help to him. He, obviously, needed it so much more than I did. 5

The phone on the wall started to ring. I stood up to answer it, and when I did I caught a glance of myself in the mirror. My face was dead white, except for the black mascara rings around my drowned eyes. I was a mess. I picked it up and it was his father calling to ask if his brother was at his Little league game. He was, I told him. Then I broke the news. News why I was answering the phone and not Jack. I couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe it, and he dropped the phone. I heard it hit the floor in his office. I said goodbye and he must have called his wife and 911 because ambulances showed up within two minutes. They asked me the questions and they took him into the ambulance, to do some tests before he was buried. I cried when they put the sheet over his face. I had no where else to go now, but I couldn't go home. 6

I walked downtown and made it to the subway station. I only had a little money, and I used a bit to get a ticket. It took be just to Boston, but that was far enough from this hell. 7

I'd always hated Maine. With this ever burning passion I hated it. I was never going back. I would live on the streets and make money playing music. If I had to I would be a prostitute. Just until I could find a mediocre minimum wage job. Maybe I would have a baby. I'm only 15, but I've always wanted a child. I wanted to feel the pain as new life came into the world. A teenage pregnancy is perfect for someone like me. Then anyone who judges me can get the full package. A runaway musician with a kid. What every parent desires.8