Texts to a Dead Girl: A Monologue

Kayla M

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It’s the night of homecoming and autumn showers drizzle as GEMMA, a 17 year old girl roams down a moonlit path at a park where her and her now deceased friend, REAGAN, once roamed together. Gemma clutches her phone with resent as she begins to speak to herself. GEMMA It’s been two weeks since you died, Reagan, and you’re the only person I’ve been texting. Her phone lights up. Her face twists with anguish as she scrolls to the last message she sent when Reagan was alive–the message that killed her. She mutters it aloud. GEMMA “‘Where are you?’; Read 7:02 PM 10/2/17” Tears rush down her cheeks. She screams as she flings her phone across the pavement. GEMMA Why did I have to send such a vapid text? Why did you even read it? It isn’t like you to open a text behind the wheel. It was the last thing you’ve ever seen, the last time you’ve thought of me. Dismally, she walks to her phone and picks it up, smearing the dirt and rain droplets from it. She scrolls to texts she wrote a week ago. GEMMA “‘I hugged your mom at the funeral, I haven’t told her it was my fault.”’ “When I told her, she was so forgiving… She said it was nobody’s fault; I know she was just being nice.” Gemma’s words get caught in her throat as she utters the texts she sent throughout this week. GEMMA “‘Come back.’”, “‘I love you.’”, “‘I’m sorry…’”. She clicks the off button on her phone and stuffs it in her pocket. She trudges over to an old, languid willow tree and leans against it, her body slumping down until she finds herself in a position with her knees pressed to her chest. GEMMA I can’t believe I’m still sending you texts when that was the thing that killed you. They’re doing nothing but rubbing salt in my bleeding wound. She reaches her catharsis as she pulls out her phone and declares: GEMMA No more texts to a dead girl. She types out one last response. GEMMA ‘“Goodbye, Reagan, you’re forever in my heart.””