"Make Sure Everyone Knows..."

Our eyes BOTH watched

Our ears BOTH heard

Our skin BOTH felt

Our noses BOTH smelt

Our mouths BOTH watched

And yet our brains have different interpretations. Different plans on how we should handle our “secret.” Our little mystery. Why was that? Why couldn't we both agree? 

...

Hannah;

“Hannah! Please!” Mother called across the table. Splitting open my thoughts. Causing reality to seep in. 

“Um-yes.” I answered turning to meet my mothers eyes. She had beautiful brown eyes which sat in her face so evenly. It was perfect how they lined up with her brows and her nose. Her mouth. Those perfect slim pink lips. But her hair was the most alluring. She would let down her curly brown locks and they would hang just so slightly around her face. She wore it with her skinny body. Perfectly evened out. Just tall enough, but not too much. Just big enough, but not over doing it. I was amazed at why she was with my father. A man who had once done everything wrong. Who made every mistake there was. He had no handsomeness that outstood others. He was just him. A man with questionable eyes. Those who have seen too much. Ears that couldn't handle any more dread. A mouth witch trembled at the thought of speaking lies. Skin that crawled when he thought of anything evil or wicked. And somehow here I was. A consequence to their love. 

I wasn't like my mom in her beauty. While she was perfect, I had hazel eyes. They were made of all colors. Couldn't decide what they wanted to be, and they dipped at the ends. I had a nose which turned up. Lips that were too small on the top lip, and too big on the bottom. I had a beauty mark which almost blended in with my few freckles and load of acne. Alongside my face, I was taller than the average teenage girl. My body was still figuring out what it wanted to look like, therefore causing me to be all uneven and messed up. I was a mess.

I wasn't like my father. I had always tried to make the best decision. Never had I tried to hurt another person. I was known for being a good kid. While I would watch evil, I never trembled. I never cringed at the thought. I would hear it surround me, but never towards or from me. No one wanted to talk to me anyway. Or touch me. So my skin went protected by a bubble in which no one entered.

I was alone.

My mom had anyone she wanted.

My dad had close brothers who would die with him.

And yet, I sat here. In this room. My mother and father were staring at me. They were waiting for an answer, but I missed the question. I was lost dazed in my own mind. I was weak and couldn't control when I dozed off into my imagination. It was a curse, or a blessing. Depending on what you saw in and of the world. I saw it as both.

“Hannah!” My dad spoke up.

“Yes?” I quickly questioned what I had done. I back tracked the last 24 hours. 

…

“Take my hand.”

…

“Take a drink.”

…

“Take a chance.”

…

“I PROMISE it won't hurt.

…

“I PROMISE you won't get in trouble.”

…

“I PROMISE you will be fine.”

…

“Hannah, you have been sitting there for 20 minutes staring out the window. Your food is cold. Please eat then go finish your chores and homework. Understand?” Her eyes were serious. Worried even. Had she found out? How could she? 

“Yes mom.” I took my fork and started shoving down the chicken and rice plate which sat in front of me, cold and gross. 

After I finished eating, I took my plate and washed it in the sink. Mom and dad had moved to the sitting room and were going through bills. Talking about whatever they were talking about. My mind was swallowed up by what had happened. What will happen. I couldn't stop the thoughts. They were wild. Savage. Running and trampling my mind. Ripping up and devouring any other thoughts that came in my mind. 

Does his do that?

Do they come and ruin his plans?

Make things horrible and miserable? 

…

Ray;

I want to scream. I want to feel the sensation of yelling. Exploding with that much sound and energy. Not caring whether others heard me, but they would hear me. Right now I am sitting in my dining room. My room at the moment has my bed, dresser, and desk. I have nothing else, which makes the room plain, empty, and most of all cold. It's cold and bitter not only physically but mentally. When I try to write, it seeps in my thoughts and sad bitter words and feelings flow through me. I can't control it either. It just weirdly works that way. Man, I am such a dork. While other kids my age are out playing sports, or on their phones. Possibly hanging out with friends. I am wearing an old, stained hoodie. Sitting wrapped up in our messy house. My head pounding as I type whatever comes to my mind. And at the moment I have one thing on my mind; her. She is looming over me. I feel her spirit. I feel her in my body. Sitting in my legs as she punches them. Make them weak and unable to move. I feel her in my stomach squeezing my insides. In my lungs not letting air in. In my mouth not letting me speak right. And most of all...my brain. That is her kingdom. She is wired in. Her tentacles reach throughout my body. Doing her acts. Tearing me down. 

Does she know this?

Know this uneasy pain? 

Is it because of me?

…

“Ray?” I heard my mother call from the entry of our house. She had just gotten back from her job. She works as an mechanic at this old place in town. She practically runs the place. She always has. It didn't matter if my dad was in the picture or not, she would thrive. When she was young, her parents didn't want kids, therefore they left her. Practically threw her out. She went from person to person till she was thrown out for being too old. The best part was she wasn't broken. Had no pain. She saw it as God was pointing her. 

From there she met my dad. He was a nice man who had worked at the auto shop for quite some time. He was tall and had light brown hair which he let grow out around his ears. Mom says “his eyes were content, and very very bright blue.” But we don't talk about him much. My dad was secretly depressed on the inside and thought if he found things that were good to others, maybe he would be happy. That only led to my mother marrying a drunk who only wanted the future. Didn't care for the present much. The limited my mothers dreams. Thought they were not important. So, they broke apart. He only saw me a few times. I was so young I don't even remember his face or presence. About two months after they broke apart he called her. “Even the phones ring was queer. Erie.” Mom answered and he confessed everything. His depression and alcohol problem which led to my father committing suicide. Mom won't say anything besides that. She always ends up crying. That burns me. It scares me. I have even had nightmares that I was him. Therefore I am scared of drinking and depression. Being sad and broken. 

Since I met her, she has shown me everything. I locked up my feelings so they wouldn't get hurt. She snuck in and smashed every wall I built. Let my feelings spray out all over her. She absorbs it with joy. I still don't understand. She brings up every anger, and sad memory.. Every fearful thought. But she walks in a room and everyone's happy. How does she do it? Why with me involved?

…

Hannah;

My foot is rapidly tapping the ground. We are supposed to be finishing an English essay on women's rights. I quickly threw something together so I could talk to him. Though our vocal cords wouldn’t be used, my words would flow through my fingers. They would fly across the keyboard speaking in a sense. 

But how could we speak if he wasn't there?

Hey, what are you doing?

He would answer. I know he would. If only he wasn't on a completely different hall. 

History. You? Reading?

Yes! I sat up straight in my chair. My teacher eyed me. I was the “smart lonely girl” who “sat in the back doing extra.” Or talking to him...

Yep.

…

We need to talk after school

We talked a lot. I wondered what about. I hated telling him no, but I had practice. I could skip practice. Its not like I am a star player or anything...

Bout what? Important?

Its about “the thing.” 

…

Oh.

…

The bell rang. I slammed my laptop and practically shot out of the class. I threw my back pack over my shoulder and sped through the hallway trying to find him. I kept my speediness very discrete. 

No one could know.

…

I couldn't find him in the hallway. I searched through the few we always went down and yet he wasn't there. Where could he be? Then it hit me. Our spot. The place we did everything. Our “hideout.” I waved at a few friends and made my way there. It was just a few blocks outside of school. My yellow converse stomped across the ground. Every thought ran so quickly I couldn't focus on one. How could I?

Weirdly I don't remember the walk. All I can remember is looking at the graffiti wall. Crossing a busy street, almost getting hit. That was it. Right now I am standing in the room. Our place was a small run down building no one owned. At Least no one alive. It was owned by a man who was obsessed with my mother. When he died he had no family and left her this building. I don't know how he died, or if he did. All I know is it somehow is owned by my mother. She might claim it as hers though. We had found it in one of our “adventures” and now used it as our own. We had added a few home-like touches here and there. Mainly the Art Wall. A place we covered in paint and chalk. We would spend hours together making art and layering it. It was a summer project getting the building ready for our use. Preparing the rooms. I threw my bag on the rug in the middle of the room. His bag was by the wall. I was shocked he wasn't drawing or painting, but even more shocked he wasn't in the room. I walked outside to the back and now all I see is him. He is sprawled out on the grass. His blue jeans and grey shirt. His black jacket around him. His eyes are closed. I leaned against the door frame. I didn't want to disturb his peace. But when do we get what we want?

...

“My mom was suspicious...the night I came home late.” I could tell nerves shot through him. He twitched as his muscles kept tensing up. I tried to meet his eyes, but they wouldn't sit still. They just kept bouncing around the room. Examining every surface. Making sure there were no eyes. No one could watch us. Us in this small storage building. It was run down. There we sat. In the middle of the room. On the cold cracking concrete floor. “I think we should tell her...them...everyone.”

“NO! Why do you want to tell them?!” 

“Because! Hannah how long do you want to keep us, this, all of it a secret! When will you trust!” He yelled. His face is red now. 

“TRUST?! Who has trust issues again?!”

…

Ray;

Funny. We wouldn't have good without bad. Trust without secrecy. Peace without conflict. 

Ray without Hannah…

…

“Hannah! Please! I ask one thing, that we come out. That we speak truth! Listen Hannah!” I could tell my words mean nothing to her. 

…

Hannah; 

How could his words mean so much? They were like daggers in my body. My head. 

Ray; 

Just. Stop. 

Please. 

But she can't. She never can. She is Hannah Ambers. Known for going too far. Walking to the edge. Losing herself. Constantly.  

Hannah; 

Why cant he see? If we told them, they wouldn't understand! No one ever does. 

....

Ray;

“RAY WHAT HAPPENED!?” Mrs. Ambers is screaming as she runs across the road. I see her face glowing. Tears have coated her face. Her make up painting her. I can tell she ran out of the house. Her messy hair and clothes are pj’s. Her husband followed behind her. Same look. I am sitting here smiling. I can't help it. The cop hates this. He gives me a glare and shove. Asking me questions. I can't help but know Hannah wanted this. 

We were arguing on whether to tell everyone of our secret. She couldn't help it. She hated life. It was a terrible burden on her weak bones. I was the only thing that kept her together. The secret I wanted to tell, although everyone wouldn't believe or like it. She said if she was going to be killed, she wanted to do it. She wanted to not let others decide her fate. So she also decided to make a statement. 

A BIG one. 

So when you see “A teen girl...committed suicide ... murder...made a point…” know that was Hannah. Know she wanted a voice. Know people stole that from her. So, to open people's eyes, she decided to use her life. I hoped you were confused. That is what Hannah liked. She told me when I write this to “prove I was innocent” (which I am not) to say this at the end.

“People claim to make the world a better place. People think of answers and solutions and yet we kill ourselves and everything else. Will we ever realize there is more to life? Close your eyes and escape. See that the small parts make a big picture. I was just a small town girl, but wait till you to see what I have done. When you finally catch me, I’ll be dead. TAKE THAT! Also I want to be known as the worst criminal in history. Call me...The Invisible Girl. Make me sound innocent. Make Ray sound handsome. And please make sure everyone knows…