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Monday, December 24, 2018

Microstory 1001: Edna

Well truthfully, I didn’t know the victim at all. I think she said hello to me once, but a lot of people did that to me on my first day. I started here at the beginning of the year, so I’m not as new as you are, but this is a pretty small town, so I still feel like an outsider. I don’t feel like I should comment on the situation, because all I know is what they wrote in the real newspapers. Not that you’re not writing for a real paper; I just meant…I don’t know what I meant. Sorry, let me start over. My name is Edna, and I’m a senior at Blast City Senior High. Go Miners! I’m kidding, I don’t care about sports. I’m a bit of a loner, but my fellow classmates have been pretty decent. If they’re saying mean things about me, they must be doing it behind my back, because they don’t say it to my face. Come to think of it, I did have one particular run-in with the victim; with Viola. The grief counselor says we should say her name; to honor her memory as a person, not just a victim. She sat next to me at lunch one day. She wasn’t being nice, or treating me like a pathetic loser, but it was the only empty table available. Mostly empty, I guess. My personal therapist says to count myself out. Anyway, so she sat next to me out of convenience, because she got in a fight with her friend. I heard her talking to someone on her phone the entire time. She used cryptic language, so I don’t really know what it was about, but apparently Maud did something she just couldn’t forgive. That ultimately seems untrue, because I saw them laughing with each other by the end of the week. Still, she seemed pretty upset, and the person on the other end of the phone call wasn’t helping her feel better. She slammed her phone down on the table hard enough to crack it, and got up in a huff. “I’m not hungry,” she stopped to say to me, before leaving. Maybe she was trying to be nice, because everyone knows I can’t afford a full lunch, so I was grateful for the extra food. I never got to thank her for that, even though it was weeks before she passed—I mean, died. Both the grief counselor, and my therapist, said we shouldn’t use pretty language to avoid reality. She didn’t pass by her life, and go somewhere else. She’s dead, and that’s the end of it.

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