Adamstanley

Emma rode her favorite horse into the woods, beyond the 
pecan grove, where a creek came off the river. When 
their aunt couldn’t find her, Kimmie looked in the cabin, 
and found a note: 
“When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook…her garments, 
heavy with their drink,
Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death…”
Just a quote from Shakespeare, in her almost calligraphic
handwriting. 
No explanation. 
But why should there be one. The loved ones of a suicide
victim always expect some kind of answer. Most of 
time, there is no rational explanation when some kills 
them self, especially someone young,so talented and 
beautiful as Emma Davenport. I was angry too, 
but not at her. I was angry at myself. I couldn’t help
but remember that boy. His face. The back of his head. 
I was the one who threw her in the water. 
She was paying for my sins. That guilt was 
too heavy, and it pulled her under, and took her from 
me. I blamed Alicia her for her death, and I still 
do, although I have come to accept the reality that I
had some part in it. We all did. It’s never just one 
thing. It’s not that simple. Like it always does, 
everything thing that happened, happened in such 
a way that it killed her.
That morning her uncle found her face down in the 
creek. She was wearing her outfit from Swan Lake, 
and he sat on the bank for an hour and watched her, 
as she seemed to float in the sky, that was reflected
in the clear, still water. Kimmie found her horse the 
next day, lingering under the shade of the pecan grove, 
waiting.

                                                      ~~adam stanley