Gemma+S's+OpEd+Article

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**Death of a Best Friend ** **by Gemma Stoll** Last month my best friend became dead to me. It had been coming for a long while. I came to the consternation on this day. My best friend was a joyful girl, one that everyone envied. She was outgoing and rebellious, and she had the world at her feet. Many have come to mourn the girl she was, because she no longer exists. She is dead. Her family and friends miss her terribly. My best friend was always full of life. She’d skip when others would stumble, and run when others walked. Every day she made a difference to a friend, and attempted to rid the world of inhibitions; a quality most admired by all who knew her. My favorite memory of her is a recent one. It was January of this year, when her health began to decline. I ran away from home for the afternoon. It was pouring outside. I donned my red rain jacket and quickly walked to the park. The sky was gray, falling all around me. After screaming to God on the basketball court, I decided to call her up. I sat on the wet jungle gym, crying. She insisted to pick me up. The sun shone ever so slightly in my eyes as she ran to me in her bare feet, shorts, and nevershoutnever tee. She embraced me and took my hand. We stopped by Starbucks before arriving at her house. She paid for my peppermint mocha, the twin to hers. She wrapped me up in a towel, and dried my feet with the warm blast of her hairdryer. We sat in her familiar room, between the red sheets. There we stayed for hours, until my mother’s sharp teeth tore us apart. This is one of many memories I have of us. Memories that will never fade, even as she lives in another universe. She was always there for me. In death, she is numb. Her soul is sheathed in cellophane, her eyes clouded with indifference. She fell off a cliff of her own demise. She would not have it any other way. Her spirit and body still live, separated by the iron claws of the world.