Día De Muertos Ingles

 
Day of the DeadA short story by Venus RanieriI sit on the cold marble floor, my uniform covered in crimson blood. Men and womendash past me in EMT jackets. They glance wearily at me as ifI contained some type of disease, then keep on running to the last stall in the girls’ lavatory at St. Catharine’s’Catholic School. My mind is numb, only thoughts of the simplest nature can be processed. I seea stretcher being rolled into the stall and a body bag is placed on top.This bag contains my best friend Mary Jane, who only ten minutes ago took her own life.She had been perfect in my mind, butnobodies perfect once you look past the seemingly perfect exterior.It’s exactly one month after Mary’s death and my sixteenth birthday. I’m standingover her grave. An etching of her face immortalized instone, the picture from her last birthday, her sixteenth birthday actually. Tears fly down my face, the black veil from her death crowds my thoughts. Today is October 31
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; it is the anniversaryof her death andthe day of the dead. I admit that I, Melissa Natalie Rodriguez blame myself for Mary’sdeath. I should have noticed that she was troubled and depressed. Some may think itludicrous but Iknow in the foundation of my heart that I could have stopped her from her own destruction. I walk out of the cemetery and climb into the awaiting cab. We fly pastTimes Square; the lights illuminatethe people in costumes on the street. The cab comesto an abrupt stop and I see my apartment building looming in front of me. I pull my jacket closer to my body the chilly air seeping deep into my bones.The doorman isdressed in a surprisingly authentic gorilla costume. I step into the elevator and ride up tomy floor. A surprise greets me as I open the door.“SURPRISE! HAPPY SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAYMELISSA!” My friends’cheerful faces squealed.“I don’t know what to say.” I admitted to my friend Tasha.“We know you miss her, but its okay to live life. She would have wanted you to,”compassion filling...