I dreamt a lot that night.

My mind was recalling all the actions that took place today and would not let me sleep. I was just too thoughtful and curious about why these projections have appeared. 

One particular had frozen me in place, with fear and disappointment, since I knew why I was here. I remembered. After all these years.

It was where I first met her, next to my locker. Mine was 052, and she was 053. A new addition to our class, the “new piece of meat” as the others called her, just because she was extremely shy and quiet everyone started teasing and making fun of her. 

But not me. 

No no, I was curious, I wanted to learn more, needed to discover who she was and where she came from. I approached her on that day and attempted to talk to her. Janice, yes that was her name. Such a fine name, so secretive and mysterious that would just draw you in, helplessly wanting to discover more about her. Or at least this is what I thought since I have developed a certain interest in her.

The girl was around my age. Dressed like a typical high school student with a few more “touches” of herself. She had long, darkish-red hair that covered half her face and her blue eyes, who looked like the bluest oceans you have ever seen and was built up around half of my height, is one of the tallest kids in my class.

Most times, even at lunch breaks, she was sitting alone, holding this strange, damaged doll with ponytails, that wore a dress and a jumper and would always talk to her as if she was alive. 

Of course, as soon as my classmates found out that she was  bringing a doll to school, they would say and do the most terrible things to her, like “Satan's baby” or “voodoo witch” or even “corrupt scary monster” and then leave her stumbling on the ground, tears running down her eyes, soaking her doll and dress. 

This kept going on for days now until I decided to place my foot on the ground and defend her. Even if most of the bullies were my friends. One day in the playground I spotted all these “vultures” screaming and mumbling at the girl like they wanted her to shrink and disappear into nothingness. I pulled her out of the crowd and dragged her behind the small chapel of our school. 

In shock and tears running down her face, she looked up at me and asked: “why did you help me, you might lose the others like your friends.” Helping her get up I told her that they should not have treated her like that regardless of them being my friends and that I was so mad at them right now.

The girl thanked me and introduced herself. Her name was Janice, and her doll’s name was Sophie. I didn’t even ask her about the doll; she just started talking about her, so I started to listen. The doll was the last happy memory and gift she was given by her mother before she passed away on her deathbed. Cancer. Such a bad way to go. 

So I started hanging out with Janice, eager in finding out more about her and how she ended up in this school, where the only way you could survive was being rich, or dating someone that was rich. She told me that she was invited in joining us here by our principal because of her outstanding scores she had in her previous school when she lived in another town. 

As the days went by, the girl and I built a quite firm friendship with each other. I protected her from any idiots that would hurt or tease her. And she returned the kindness by showing me her amazing cooking skills she told none else about. 

I could even see that she was starting to change from being this sad, miserable and shy person, into something new. Everything seemed to go well, I even introduced her to some of my friends that found her weird and in the end found themselves liking her company instead. 

I put a smile back on her face.

Till on that day.

That one horrible day, I found her cornered by a bunch of guys and girls that were way older than both of us. I tried to help her, but my friends kept pulling me away, said that was not worth helping the “meat.” Eventually, I was dragged away against my will, while the girl stared back at me with this disgusted and deadly stare. Like I was the one that did this to her.

During the weekend, I tried texting and calling her. She never answered. Not even one message, nothing. Feeling with guilt, being the one that put her in that situation, I tried anything to find her. I have even visited her house for the first time, but her parents, with worried eyes and tears,  told me that since we finished school on that day that her incident happened, she had never returned home. The police got involved later, searching every possible corner she could have gone in this small, corrupted town of ours. 

The search continued for three days straight. Till one day.

That one, cloudy and gloomy Sunday when I returned home from soccer practice. My discovery on that day had scarred me for life. 

Swinging dead on a rope around her neck. Janice’s pale eyes and ghostly face stared back at me in helplessness and disappointment. I screamed and collapsed on the floor. If only I could make it in time on that day in school, if only I resisted and went to help her, none of this would have happened. 

This incident scarred me for life.

I could not sleep every night without hearing her screams and cries for help as I was not there, to help her, I was never there in fact when she needed me.

As the days went by, paranoia took over me. 

Every night, I would have nightmares of her dead corpse coming back to life inside my room, with her damaged doll in her hand, and just stare at me, with hatred and discussed that I did not save her and of that one corridor that we once met which was once filled with life and opportunity for new beginnings, was know her graveyard of hate and darkness, filled with her echoes and screams which drilled my ears, mind, and heart as I was lying, helpless, tired and regretful. 

For not saving her on that day 

Everyone has some good in their hearts to give.

You just need to give them the chance and time for them to release it.