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Description
They had done it.

The sun came in hot through the dust in the window. The bed was hot and sticky, the stuffy blanket of heat settling over Andy and his best friend. He pulled his arms up and tucked them behind his head, then put them back down, huddling them around his bare chest. Hannah didn't move.

Hair plastered to his forehead and stinging sweat in his eyes, Andy sat up. He looked around at the room. It had been familiar last night. His black hair clouded thickly into his eyes. The small room smelled like salt and muddled beige, choking up in Andy's throat.

He didn't want to wake Hannah, but her small body lay between him and the door. He looked down at her torn back, the deep scratches in her skin beginning to scab already. Her soft pink back didn't sweat at all, small goose bumps appearing next to the raised black and red gashes between her shoulder blades.

He couldn't remember everything from last night, but the sand from a beach or an ashtray was itching its way under his skin. So there had been a bar? Or the lake? He had a funny taste in his mouth. He didn't want to think about the stale bitterness of it. He caught the general feeling of a memory and could picture himself standing out on the lakeshore by the bonfire. Yes… a bonfire made sense.

Andy hugged his knees to his chest and pushed his hair out of his eyes. His jeans were tight in the leg and loose at the waist, his belt cinching and uncinching with every minute movement. It dug sharply into his stomach and he leaned into the wall next to him to relieve the pressure. The paint chipped off and stuck to his shoulder.

Next to him, Hannah turned over; her faded red halter-top covering her torso. She shivered and pulled the thick blanket from the bed over her shoulders. Her long brown hair was everywhere and though Andy itched to brush it away from her face, he didn't touch her. He waited for her to move again but she didn't stir. The heat from the window made the room steamy and sluggish, the air cloudy and hard to breathe. Everything was in shadow now.
Slowly carefully he moved down the mattress, stepping toe-by-toe onto the floor. His foot collided with something under the bed and he pulled it out. It was his shoe. The heel had caught on a photo that he vaguely remembered. He sat at the end of the bed looking at the familiar faces. Himself, Hannah, and sixteen other teenagers in t-shirts and jeans. He stared at a small girl with flat brown hair that fell in strings down from her face.

Amelia… he thought.

He pulled on the shoe a reinforced stiletto with alligator patterned faux leather in a shiny red finish. He felt around under the bed a little, but there was nothing left. He stood up unbalanced. He took a step with the red heel and shook. He grabbed the black dresser with the hand holding the photograph. It crinkled around the wooden corner with a crunching sound, shaking the can of incense. He limped forward again, stepping carefully over piles of clothes. He grabbed a black shirt and pulled it over his head. As he slipped it down his stomach he felt an extra sticky spot on his ribs. He touched his fingertips to it and they came away red.

He licked his hand and wiped it away, there was a little slice underneath which he poked at inquisitively. It started to bleed, little friendly droplets slipping out here and there. He picked at some of the piles on the floor but he didn't find his other shoe. He turned around and grabbed the doorknob. It clicked a little, shaking in the hole that was too big for it. The first time he turned it, it did nothing. He pushed on it hard, and then turned it slowly. The springs didn't make a sound and the door pulled into the room quietly. The hallway outside was empty save for several hung photographs and a dirty white carpet. It too was sweating, paint chips dripping down the walls muddying the carpet. He stepped out from the cave with the feeling of shadow behind him. At the end of the hallway, sprawled across the couches and chairs and floor were fifteen bodies, piled upon each other, scantily clad and shimmering in the sluggish brown sunlight. In this room the light poured through the cracks in the blinds like a cloud of gas.

Each of the bodies was marked in some way. A cut on one girl, and scrape on the boy below her, so many bruises. They slept on in their dead heat as Andy stood there looking at the pictures around the room, identifying their faces here and there on the walls. He could see his own black eyes looking back at him ten times over. Amelia's face kept jumping out at him. There she was at the park with them. There she was at the beach by the lake, in Yellowstone, at their middle school graduation. She was everywhere but in the pile of bodies at his feet. He knew where she was, though. The only clear light in the room came from the front door. The light was a pleasant blue, like the sky out there. Andy rested his back against the corner of the hallway and gripped his knees with his hands. His breathing became labored and he bent down, his body beginning to shake. Amelia…

Tears came to his eyes and he began to cry vigorously, the photograph in his hands crinkling and distorting with the saltwater from his face. There was a car parked outside and the shine from it caught his eyes. That funny taste came back to his mouth and he keeled over and tried to throw up, but he couldn't. Only bile came out, dripping onto the floor like bleach, but it stank just as badly as if he had had a full stomach beforehand. He straightened up, dirty water still clinging to his face as he hobbled away, running as well as he could out the door and to the car outside. It was a large dark behemoth, shiny and new, but dented up on one side and he remembered every scratch and bruise the car had suffered the night before, the torment that he and his friends had put the beast through in their desire. There had been too many of them to fit inside of it. Illegal was an understatement. Reckless, dangerous, stupid- those were all words that felt more accurate in Andy's mind. He rested his hands against the car then began to strike it with an open palm, not making a single dent or coming close to breaking the window.

"Amelia!" he screamed as he collapsed onto the driver's door, sobbing again. He tried to get all of his words out at once, that he was sorry, that he was sad, that it should have been him– but it came out as only a few crippled and gargled sounds which bounced off the car and back to him. "Why?" he cried, "Why, why, why?" He crumbled to the ground, traumatizing his body against the concrete. He fell backwards. He only missed the grass by an inch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The funeral for Amelia was large, but silent. The whole crowd was primarily students she had known from middle and high school, but there were also families and teachers present. Those closest to the coffin were her friends. Andy stood at the corner of her grave, closest to her head, watching as she was lowered into the earth. His head was bandaged and cold, his hair gone now. They had had to shave it off to fix his head. He wore a black suit, with black shoes that pinched his feet. He didn't blink as he watched her coffin slowly disappear. Hannah stood next to him, her arm interlocked with his, wearing all black. Her face was covered with a veil of black lace. He could feel the voyeurs' eyes on his back and their whispers in his head.

"Aren't they the ones who were driving?"

They had done it.

Description
They had done it.

The sun came in hot through the dust in the window. The bed was hot and sticky, the stuffy blanket of heat settling over Andy and his best friend. He pulled his arms up and tucked them behind his head, then put them back down, huddling them around his bare chest. Hannah didn't move.

Hair plastered to his forehead and stinging sweat in his eyes, Andy sat up. He looked around at the room. It had been familiar last night. His black hair clouded thickly into his eyes. The small room smelled like salt and muddled beige, choking up in Andy's throat.

He didn't want to wake Hannah, but her small body lay between him and the door. He looked down at her torn back, the deep scratches in her skin beginning to scab already. Her soft pink back didn't sweat at all, small goose bumps appearing next to the raised black and red gashes between her shoulder blades.

He couldn't remember everything from last night, but the sand from a beach or an ashtray was itching its way under his skin. So there had been a bar? Or the lake? He had a funny taste in his mouth. He didn't want to think about the stale bitterness of it. He caught the general feeling of a memory and could picture himself standing out on the lakeshore by the bonfire. Yes… a bonfire made sense.

Andy hugged his knees to his chest and pushed his hair out of his eyes. His jeans were tight in the leg and loose at the waist, his belt cinching and uncinching with every minute movement. It dug sharply into his stomach and he leaned into the wall next to him to relieve the pressure. The paint chipped off and stuck to his shoulder.

Next to him, Hannah turned over; her faded red halter-top covering her torso. She shivered and pulled the thick blanket from the bed over her shoulders. Her long brown hair was everywhere and though Andy itched to brush it away from her face, he didn't touch her. He waited for her to move again but she didn't stir. The heat from the window made the room steamy and sluggish, the air cloudy and hard to breathe. Everything was in shadow now.
Slowly carefully he moved down the mattress, stepping toe-by-toe onto the floor. His foot collided with something under the bed and he pulled it out. It was his shoe. The heel had caught on a photo that he vaguely remembered. He sat at the end of the bed looking at the familiar faces. Himself, Hannah, and sixteen other teenagers in t-shirts and jeans. He stared at a small girl with flat brown hair that fell in strings down from her face.

Amelia… he thought.

He pulled on the shoe a reinforced stiletto with alligator patterned faux leather in a shiny red finish. He felt around under the bed a little, but there was nothing left. He stood up unbalanced. He took a step with the red heel and shook. He grabbed the black dresser with the hand holding the photograph. It crinkled around the wooden corner with a crunching sound, shaking the can of incense. He limped forward again, stepping carefully over piles of clothes. He grabbed a black shirt and pulled it over his head. As he slipped it down his stomach he felt an extra sticky spot on his ribs. He touched his fingertips to it and they came away red.

He licked his hand and wiped it away, there was a little slice underneath which he poked at inquisitively. It started to bleed, little friendly droplets slipping out here and there. He picked at some of the piles on the floor but he didn't find his other shoe. He turned around and grabbed the doorknob. It clicked a little, shaking in the hole that was too big for it. The first time he turned it, it did nothing. He pushed on it hard, and then turned it slowly. The springs didn't make a sound and the door pulled into the room quietly. The hallway outside was empty save for several hung photographs and a dirty white carpet. It too was sweating, paint chips dripping down the walls muddying the carpet. He stepped out from the cave with the feeling of shadow behind him. At the end of the hallway, sprawled across the couches and chairs and floor were fifteen bodies, piled upon each other, scantily clad and shimmering in the sluggish brown sunlight. In this room the light poured through the cracks in the blinds like a cloud of gas.

Each of the bodies was marked in some way. A cut on one girl, and scrape on the boy below her, so many bruises. They slept on in their dead heat as Andy stood there looking at the pictures around the room, identifying their faces here and there on the walls. He could see his own black eyes looking back at him ten times over. Amelia's face kept jumping out at him. There she was at the park with them. There she was at the beach by the lake, in Yellowstone, at their middle school graduation. She was everywhere but in the pile of bodies at his feet. He knew where she was, though. The only clear light in the room came from the front door. The light was a pleasant blue, like the sky out there. Andy rested his back against the corner of the hallway and gripped his knees with his hands. His breathing became labored and he bent down, his body beginning to shake. Amelia…

Tears came to his eyes and he began to cry vigorously, the photograph in his hands crinkling and distorting with the saltwater from his face. There was a car parked outside and the shine from it caught his eyes. That funny taste came back to his mouth and he keeled over and tried to throw up, but he couldn't. Only bile came out, dripping onto the floor like bleach, but it stank just as badly as if he had had a full stomach beforehand. He straightened up, dirty water still clinging to his face as he hobbled away, running as well as he could out the door and to the car outside. It was a large dark behemoth, shiny and new, but dented up on one side and he remembered every scratch and bruise the car had suffered the night before, the torment that he and his friends had put the beast through in their desire. There had been too many of them to fit inside of it. Illegal was an understatement. Reckless, dangerous, stupid- those were all words that felt more accurate in Andy's mind. He rested his hands against the car then began to strike it with an open palm, not making a single dent or coming close to breaking the window.

"Amelia!" he screamed as he collapsed onto the driver's door, sobbing again. He tried to get all of his words out at once, that he was sorry, that he was sad, that it should have been him– but it came out as only a few crippled and gargled sounds which bounced off the car and back to him. "Why?" he cried, "Why, why, why?" He crumbled to the ground, traumatizing his body against the concrete. He fell backwards. He only missed the grass by an inch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The funeral for Amelia was large, but silent. The whole crowd was primarily students she had known from middle and high school, but there were also families and teachers present. Those closest to the coffin were her friends. Andy stood at the corner of her grave, closest to her head, watching as she was lowered into the earth. His head was bandaged and cold, his hair gone now. They had had to shave it off to fix his head. He wore a black suit, with black shoes that pinched his feet. He didn't blink as he watched her coffin slowly disappear. Hannah stood next to him, her arm interlocked with his, wearing all black. Her face was covered with a veil of black lace. He could feel the voyeurs' eyes on his back and their whispers in his head.

"Aren't they the ones who were driving?"

They had done it.