he wrote that she'd slit her throat in the courtyard, mid-day, during lunch hour. Said she just went, while the rose-red sirens bled into the scene, while a High school principal made a flurry of frantic phone calls.
he told me her face had relaxed, that her eyes had rolled back until there was no more blue, just everything white.
She hovered over the throng of her peers who gasped and cried and fainted while coming upon her body.
Lisa slit her throat, the rumor went, but this time it was not rumor.
I saw her but I still didn't believe it.
Overhead, above the crowd of kids, she pulled at her hair and vomited a rose, pulling the stem from her throat. The bits of her neverending waves of hair that had touched the red were matted, a flower soggy tangled up in there.
She looked at me from up there, and smiled, frighteningly, hauntingly. I let her go.