The smallest coffins are always the heaviest, I always heard them say. I hoped I would never, ever, have to find whether they were right. But they were correct, oh, they were so correct. The ones who end up dying early are often the ones you'd never think would. The smart ones, who  have a future, but choose never to draw attention to that fact. 

She was thirteen when she died. She'd be eighteen today. She was shot in a school shooting, by one of the people whom she was classmates of. She was the only one to die, sacrificing herself for her other classmates. I still can't believe how brave she was for doing that. I don't think she should've though. She knew the aftermath. I still remember the funeral as if it were yesterday. 

That day, I met the boy that was in love with her, and her two best friends. One of her friends reminded me of her, and of myself when I was younger. The other one stayed close to him, and was as emotional as a stone and, honestly, I can't blame him. She was dressed in a dark blue dress that sparkled with star-like sequins. So beautiful. Her hair was short, and matched the coloring of the dress. While she was being buried, the boy in love broke down. He began sobbing, albeit quietly. 

After the funeral was done, her three friends and I drove to her house. Her room was a mess, except for her desk, bookshelf and bed. On her bed, her coloring books were laid out. She loved coloring. Always said it helped prepare her for making comic books. On her desk, there the were the notebooks that I knew were each filled with stories. She loved to write, and was a talented one to boot. There were also her sketchbooks, and in it her drawings. She had a talent for drawing, too, but she never had any confidence in it. But she really wanted to be a comic book writer and illustrator.

We were each given a few of her books, along with a notebook, sketchbook, and coloring book. When I got into my car to drive back home, as her mother and I were divorced (and lived far, far away from each other), I began crying. I hadn't before now, a fact to which I was surprised and, to be honest, a bit disturbed at. I was going to miss when she visited me. We made a lot of memories, and I don't quite understand how I'll get over them. 

I guess I'll figure out a way. I became friends with her three friends on Facebook, and we exchanged almost daily conversations. At first, they were about her, but they slowly turned to other things. The things we had in common, for the most part. I felt a kind of, companionship, I guess you could call it, with them.