Listen.

part 2: Listen. 

I cry as I read the last words of my friend. She had sent it to my mailbox. I suppose as an explanation to me for the seemingly ridiculous action of taking her life just a week ago. 

I crumple the paper in my hand and throw it hard at a nearby tree. Falling to my knees I scream in frustration: “why?! Why? Why? Why?!!”

Her name was Isabel. Sweet Isabel with the dark hair and gentle eyes. She was a gentle girl. She was only 17.

I met her in 4^th grade. We became friends instantly. She was quiet. But she had a wild imagination.

But people. People are cruel. People have the ability to care for a soul, or tear a life apart.

And Isabel, Isabel was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Two years ago, Isabel was walking home from school; just her usual routine. When out of nowhere she was grabbed and pulled into a van.

Four men. Four cruel and disgustingly horrible men. Raped her. Cut her. Kicked her. Tortured her. Then left her. On the side of the road to die.

By some miracle she survived. But the scars on her body were always there to remind her. Haunt her.

At school, she got mocked; for the scars on her body and the reputation of her rape.

She was called a slut. She was called ugly. She was called unspeakable names that would break a soul further from its tear.

She moved, from school to school, even city to city. But I never knew how much pain she was in. She always had me and close circle of 5 friends; Samantha, Cassie, Yaven, Tanya and of course me, Julie. With us, she was always happy and full of laughter and never cared to talk about the details of her pain. She merely shrugged it off not wanting us to worry about her.

On my knees I start pounding the cement pavement which I stood on; barely noticing the blood that was starting to spatter from my fist.

I subconsciously notice my mother running out screaming at me to stop. She drags me to my feet and I crumble in her arms. I whisper one last: “why” before I knock unconscious. 

end part 2.