Writer’s Corner: ‘Our Deadly Friendship’

The Writer’s Corner features poetry, essays, short stories, satire and various fiction and non-fiction from SCAD Atlanta students. To submit your own work for the Writer’s Corner, email features@scadconnector.com.

‘Our Deadly Friendship’ by Amanda Glover

“I hate this,” I said to Heather as we dropped the tarp on the dirty, wet leaves. She bent over and pressed her palms over her knees. “You think I’m having right now?!” She hissed. Her eye makeup had formed a puddle under her eyes. Her sweaty bangs clung to her forehead. Her lipstick had all come off, making her lips resemble her pale skin.

Heather fanned herself with her filthy hands; dirt slapping her cheeks. “Come on, Izzy. We have to do this. We don’t have any other choice,” she said grabbing her side of the tarp.

I scoffed and picked up my side. Then we started walking through the woods again, “Oh, we had a choice. You just thought to drag her out here instead of calling the police and simply explaining what happened was the right one!”

“Explain what, Izzy? Explain how I called my ex-best friend who stole my boyfriend, invited her to our empty house at ten o’clock at night, and accidentally pushed her down the stairs?! How does that sound to you? Does it not sound like a bitter ex-girlfriend who planned to lead her ex-best friend to her death?”

I sighed and ran my hands through my hair. “Heather—”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“So, do we have an actual plan or are we just going to leave her for the wolves?”

I hissed.

Heather squinted at me. “No, you idiot. We bury her.”
You’re probably wondering why anyone would go along with this; especially if they didn’t kill anyone. Part of me wanted to believe Heather was the roommate I moved in with before starting college. Part of me didn’t want to believe that an inconsiderate ex-boyfriend was enough to turn her into a killer. Part of me wanted to believe Heather pushing Lauren down the stairs really was an accident. Part of me wanted to keep protecting her. But, part of me was terrified of what she’d do if I said no. Part of me didn’t care.

I dropped the tarp and wiped my hands on my jeans. “No.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

I took a step back, then another. “I’m not doing this, Heather. I’m sorry. I can’t…bury her. This isn’t who I am. It never will be.”

She dropped her side of the tarp. “I told you what happens if you bail on me. If I go down, you go down with me. Besides, you’re already a part of this. There is no way out of this. You can’t get out of this.”

I frowned and took a few more steps back. “Watch me,” then darted away through the forest. I heard Heather calling my name while running after me.

I didn’t stop running, not even while feeling like my lungs were trying to escape my chest. I ran until I could no longer see Heather. Maybe she went back to finish burying Lauren. All I knew was that I wasn’t going to stick around to find out. I walked around town for a few hours, trying to decide what to do. But the numbness covering my body prevented me from doing so. I couldn’t go back to the house. What would I even tell the police? Where else did I have to go?

Before I noticed where I was, blue and red flashing lights caught my eye. I was standing in the middle of the street, staring as police combed through the woods where Heather and I were.

I decided: what else did I have to lose? I was filthy and still in shock. The police should have no problem believing me when I explain what happened.

“Excuse me?” I asked one of the officers. But, he just continued on like he didn’t notice I was there. In fact, every officer I tried to talk to completely ignored me.

“Hello? Are you idiots deaf?!” I cried. My eyes widened. “Heather?”

My friend was being carted off in handcuffs. She was still trying to jerk her way out of the officer’s grip. I called her name again, but she didn’t even look my way.

Frustrated, I covered my face with my hands. But, something else caught my eye. I ran to a corner in the forest where medical examiners were huddled.

“Excuse me?” I repeated. No one answered.

I cried out and dug my nails into my cheeks when I saw what they were examining.

A young woman lay dead on the ground. She had her head bashed in and she was filthy.

A female examiner shook her head while taking notes on a pad. “What kind of monster kills her two best friends?”

A male examiner holding a large camera nodded towards the police car that Heather was locked in. “That kind of monster.”

I screamed as loud as I ever screamed before. It didn’t matter. No one could hear me. No one would ever hear anything from me again. I’d never made it out of the woods when I ran away from Heather.

The dead woman who lay in a pool of her own blood was me.