UNTITLED STORY ch 1

Ch 1

Savannah’s blue and black checkered sweatshirt still hung on the fence by the cliff. It stayed there for days and no one had noticed it was there—or had looked there when she was reported missing. When she didn’t come home from school one Friday afternoon, no one put much thought into it. She’d always come home late on Fridays. She always had somewhere to be. No one had even thought it was a possibility that she would run away or do anything like that until I brought it up—and that was on Sunday.
Many people wonder what happened to her. How did she fall? It never crossed anyone’s mind that it may be suicide. It was. I knew about it. I could’ve stopped it, but I didn’t think she would go through with it. I wish I’d have known how serious she was about it. Then we’d be joking about this now. Ok, maybe not joking, but I’d have someone to talk about this to. But then I wouldn’t be in this mess, so never mind my comments.
I feel like I murdered her…I could have stopped this. Why didn’t I? I’m going to take it seriously from now on. No matter how unlikely it may seem, it could happen. She tried many times…but nothing had ever worked. She cut herself, burned herself, threw up if she ate at all, sometimes smoked, and got high off ecstasy and heroin. I never knew half the story behind it all. All I knew was it made her feel good. It was something she loved; and lately, that had been hard to come by.
Almost every time I had seen her for the past few weeks, she looked depressed and many times, close to tears. I felt like asking her why, but I didn’t want to risk it making everything worse. Sometimes it helped and talking about it made it better, but not always. Usually she decided, and since she didn’t bring it up, I realized it probably wouldn’t. I hadn’t been sure if her excuses were the truth though lately. Many times she’d lie. Sometimes to make it seem better, and sometimes to bring the blame off her. But when she first consoled her plan to me, she said that everything is her fault, she’s sorry, and she’ll take full blame for this.
Back at the cliff, well it wasn’t really a cliff. It was where the ground dropped about 15 feet and there was a deep pond there. They got her body out around dinnertime on Sunday. I was there. She was wearing a white tank top, jeans and converse sneakers—typical Savannah. The tank top was a pretty dumb choice for a cold March day, but now that I think about it, she probably did it on purpose. Knowing her, she’d have worn short shorts too, but that would have looked suspicious.
I think she closed her eyes when she jumped, that’s what I would have done. Besides, her eyes were shut when they got her out, and she looked freezing. According to her, she wouldn’t care if she went in a painful way; there would be less pain than if she stay alive.
I never realized how much she wanted this—or thought she wanted it anyway. I knew she thought about suicide often, but I never imagined that she would really do it. I was so surprised when I got the call that she was missing. As soon as they told me, I ran straight to the cliff and screamed, “SAVANNAH! Are you there? Are you still alive?!”. I doubted that she’d reply but I waited anyway. I sat there waiting to see her dirty-blonde hair and fierce hazel eyes come up through the mess of branches and overgrown plants. I knew that the drop itself would mostly likely kill her, and if it didn’t, she wouldn’t have the strength to reply.
The cold March air burned my cheeks, but I had no intention of leaving. I had to stay at the cliff. I had to suffer. I leaned against the old chain-link fence until the sun set. By dusk, my ripped jeans, blue Aeropostale polo, Uggs, and sweatshirt just didn’t keep me warm. I really wanted to leave and go home…but I just couldn’t do it. I knew that Savannah wasn’t down there, but I just couldn’t bear to leave.
I heard really quiet sound that sounded like paper crinkling in the wind. I looked down and saw a piece of paper shoved under the bottom of the fence. Why out of all places would a note be shoved here? Why here? I got it out then read it:
Delaney, I hope you find this. I’m sorry I did this. I know I never told you why, but I’ll tell you one reason in each note I send you. Each one will have a hit on the bottom as to where the next is, but each place has a meaning. I’ll let you know when you get to the last one.
#1- I’m still pregnant with Kevin’s baby…
Look at the place I hated