Young Writers Society

What is kindness? Is it helping other people? Is it being true to yourself? Is it lying to make people feel better? Honestly, I don't think there is such a thing as kindness. It's just a word. Because whatever you do - kind things or not - it won't help you through life. Just think about it. What happens to the nice kids in the movies? They get bullied. What happens when you do something nice? People think you do it for selfish reasons. And what happened to the nicest man I knew? He died.

His name was Fred Rallen. He was this sort of fat man in his mid-forties. He had grey hair and the nicest, most blue eyes you'd ever seen. He owned a pharmacy down on Blew Street, where he also lived with his wife. I used to go there quite often. It was really nice and warm there. The walls were covered in medicines and stuff, but somehow, it felt good being there. It felt like home. Sometimes, Mr. Rallen would invite me upstairs for coffee, but I always turned him down. It wasn't like I thought he was going to kill me or something, I just liked the relationship we had. He was nothing but a nice man who sold drugs. Perfect.

Where was I? Right, his death. So, one day, Mrs. Rallen comes home. She walks up to the elevator where she sees her husband hanging with a rope around his neck. The news surprised us all. Why would the happiest man on earth kill himself? And who are "us all"? That's me, and the rest of this mad world we call Solum Bridge.

Solum Bridge is a small town just outside New Jersey. The name fits us all very well. You see, solum is Latin for lonely, and I think everybody here is a little bit lonely. At least I am. And why do I think everyone else is lonely? It's simple. I am just like everyone else. I'm a person who, just like everyone else, exists. And what do I do but exist? Not much. But then, who does anything besides existing? Maybe you've climbed Mount Everest. Maybe you realized everything is made of tiny things called atoms. But I don't care about any of that stuff. You're still a person who, just like me, exists. There's no difference between you and me. Except, there seems to be. We make it seem as if people aren't like each other. We judge people by the way they look or talk or think, but what we don't realize is that it doesn't matter. What I'm trying to say is that we are all the same stupid people. That's right - I said stupid. Because let's face it, we are. We're stupid, mean and crazy. Or perhaps you have another explanation for all the things we have done to this world? That's what I thought.

We hate people when we actually should hate ourselves. We should hate ourselves for being part of the human race. This kind of living creature has ruined the world for everyone. We built cities, we kill animals, we play an important role in global warming, and so on. And we don't even seem to notice this. We don't seem to notice that we're part of this awful thing called life.

People hate dictators. Why? Because they try to make decisions for everyone and make this place worse than it already is. But what difference does it make? We're all going to die someday. Someday, we get to leave each other and this world. I can't wait.

I guess that's why Mr. Rallen decided to kill himself. He wanted to end his life just because people are stupid. Turns out, he was the smart one.

And who am I? I am Mary Somner, and 18 year old girl who lives with her younger brother and mother. I don't really know what to do with myself. I just sit in my room and write. I do know one thing about myself. I become another person when I'm around people. In public, I act like I'm kind, beautiful, innocent and confident. That's not the truth, though. This is: I am not beautiful, I am not innocent and I am most certainly not confident. And kind? Well, no one is. So, that's me. Or the two sides of me.

May 18th 2017 10:56 AM

I am sitting in my room, watching the time pass by. Outside my window, there is a police car, which lights up my room in red and blue colors. I guess they are driving around town, searching for clues.

I hear my mother call my name. I put on a cardigan and walk downstairs. Leaning on our house, is Sheriff Adams, with one hand in his pocket and the other one lifting his hat.

"Ms. Somner?" he asks and places the hat back on his head. I answer by walking up to him."I'm just going to ask you a few simple questions". I nod, confused. "So, where were you around 9:30 PM, April 21st?"

April 21st 2017 9:13 PM

I take a sip of my drink and look at my friends. Well, "friends". They're part of that other side of me. They're partly the reason I act like someone else. But that's okay. I'd rather have friends who see me as someone else, than friends who see me for who I really am. Because if they did, they wouldn't be my friends.

They are laughing and dancing. I am standing by the bar, ordering another drink. This is the last one, I say to myself. I thought the same thing, three drinks ago. The room keeps spinning as I let go of the bar and stand on my own two feet. I wouldn't really call it standing, though. Let's say it's an attempt to stand. I feel my legs shake as I make my way to the exit. I walk out the door and towards Blew Street.

May 18th 2017 10:59 AM

"Uhm... Not much" I mumble. "I don't remember any details, but I believe I was out with my friends".

Sheriff Adams looks at me under the brim of his hat and smirks. "Drinking?". "No" I lie and smile politely. The Sheriff just stares at me.

"Excuse me, but why are you asking my daughter all these questions?" my mother asks and breaks the silence. She always does this. As soon as alcohol comes up in a conversation about me, she gets really uncomfortable.

"You didn't hear?" Sheriff Adams says surprised. We shake our heads in unison. "Mr. Rallen didn't commit suicide. He was murdered".