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Michele and Phoebe
Michele squeezed Phoebe’s hand so hard that it lacked circulation. Her face was as pale as vanilla ice-cream; her usual pink glow had not been present for the last few days. Phoebe on the other hand had a vague expression on her round slender face. She didn’t mind how much feeling she was loosing in her hand, so as long as Michelle was close. Phoebe hadn’t shed a single tear since the accident, she couldn’t she was the oldest now, and the oldest had to be strong. Besides she was never one to cry, she didn’t she’d a tear over her father’s death, it was like she had the inability to cry. Or was so full of emotion she didn’t know what to do with it. Yet Michele, Michelle was a crier. But she was five and five year olds where expected to cry. But an eighteen year old who had effectively become a mother figure in only a matter of days was not. For she had to be strong, to keep the little one strong. There friends of the family did the best to support Michelle. But Michelle just would not let go of Phoebe, Phoebe was her shelter, her refuge. The only person left in the world who truly or almost completely understood her. No one new exactly what Michele was going threw, they tried all except Phoebe who new better then to make assumptions. As people had tried yet failed to do that at the time of her father’s death. People were so concerned for Michelle that Phoebe was over looked, and Michelle was swamped with. “It’ll be all right dear” and “where hear for you if you need us” there was no we’ll be their for you Phoebe, as Phoebe was perceived as an adult now, and somehow that made her less important. Deep down Phoebe resented them part of her felt like yelling. ‘I’m here or are you so bloody blind you can’t see me” but she didn’t for it would achieve nothing except distress her sister and irritate their friends.
Anger welled up inside of Phoebe. She loved or rather had loved her sister even though she had done what she had done. Not only costing her own life but her best friends. Phoebe couldn’t help but have images of what the crash may have been like playing out like a movie in her mind. Anna had been stupid. But she didn’t deserve to die. At nineteen she should have known better. And as for Eliza she new that Anna was over the limit yet she still got in anyway.
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With passion and enthusiasm we shall succeed!
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