I walked into my classroom, scared as hell, like always. I did NOT wannabe here . . . I really didn’t. I was a 14 year old girl . . . but knew and saw more things then a 60 year old woman. I saw everything different then my peers. Maybe because I was abused? Maybe because I was neglected? Maybe because I had to call child services on my own father at 10? Maybe because I watched my own mother die? Maybe because I knew who killed her? Maybe because I could die at any second thanks to my stage 4 lung cancer? Or maybe because nobody would care if I died?

But mainly it was because I was me and no one cared.

I sat in my seat and ran my hand over my stubby head. I looked up so my tears would change directions.

“Hey Cue Ball!” screamed Justin Harrisburg. When I didn’t look up he started throwing wads of paper crayons, glue sticks, everything and anything he could find at my bald head. . .

Finally he gave up . . . kinda . . . instead of throwing things at my head he wrote notes and had everyone sign them . . . which metaphorically killed me. One of the notes said no one would care if cancer killed your ugly a**! And had everyone names signed on it. It made me wanna die.

That night Justin and a bunch of people called my house and left a voicemail that said “No one and I mean no one would care if that cancer you have killed your pathetic ugly a** face!” my caretaker Liz held me for hours as I cried. She did the same the next night when someone wrote in shaving cream on our sidewalk ‘Go to Hell Cue Ball’

“Why?” I wept. “Why do they hate me?”

“I don’t know baby girl. . .” Liz whispered.

“I don’t care once I die they’ll be happy,”

“I won’t . . .” Liz confessed.

I looked at the 50 year old woman. And cried harder.


Two days later those jerks got what they wanted. . . I had slipped away into the dark. Where no one could throw stuff at me.


I stayed on earth though. Wandering around the halls the day after my death. Justin and everyone that made fun of were. . . . Crying? “I didn’t really mean it!” Justin wept. “I actually had a crush on her. . .”

My ghost had stared at Justin. . . . Wondering why he was so vicious. If he liked me why not be nice? Maybe just maybe I would have lived just a bit longer if he had.

On the day on my funeral Justin showed up. He spoken in front of everyone he said: “Bella . . . she was a good person . . . I’m sorry I didn’t . . . I’m sorry. . . I’m sorry I wasn’t nice. . . Bella I’m sorry . . . for the things I’ve done. . . I love you Bella.” My body was dressed in a poofy blue dress and I had a long blonde curly hair that looked like my hair before chemo.
In Heaven everyone loved me. Everyone. And when Justin passed on he smiled at me and said “Cu- Bella! You have hair!”
I said: “Yup and thank you for what you said at my funeral,”
He said: “No thank you. You taught me to be loving, Thank you.”