I’m Dying For Summer

Photo by Denys Argyriou on Unsplash

The late spring breeze barely helped to cool her down, where she sat on the grass under one of the large poplars on campus.

No one paid her any attention.

They never did.

In high school, at their graduation ceremony, some of her fellow students looked at her with surprise in their eyes, like they saw her for the first time.

It hurt.

Hurt to be so nondescript no one ever noticed her.

Not standing out was a double-edged sword. Summer wanted the warmth of friends, but once she had found her calling that last year in high school, her solo life bothered her less.

Leaning her head back against the rough bark of the tree, Summer closed her eyes and allowed her memories to wander back to that first time.

“I’m dying for summer.”

It was early spring when she had overheard those words, some months before their graduation. It was a time when so many feelings had her in their grip — anger, irritation, sadness, depression, vengeance.

Her troubled mind had instantly twisted those words: I want to die for Summer.

Their graduation ceremony had started with a two-minute silence for their fellow student who had died only three weeks earlier.

Alcohol and pills. An overdose.


No one understood. His friends swore he had never used drugs — legal or illegal. He detested those who did.

The police questioned everyone.

Everyone but Summer.

As usual, no remembered she had been at the party, a fact that suited her perfectly, and even helped to lift her depression for a few weeks.

The coroner concluded an overdose, and the police closed the case.

Laughter and squeals pulled her out of her musings.

Summer opened her eyes and saw a group of students approaching. She recognized a couple of faces from classes she attended. They plopped down on the grass mere meters away from her, not one of them even glancing in her direction.

She was as invisible here as she was in high school.

Her ears perked up when she heard her name.

Giggling girls touched each other’s arms in excitement, sharing their vacation plans for the upcoming summer break.

“Oh gosh,” a young blond woman sighed, ran her hands through her hair, flipping it backwards as she fell onto her back. “I’m dying for summer.”

She excitedly trampled her feet on the ground to emphasize her words.

I want to die for Summer.

The words triggered a tingle of excitement running down Summer’s spine.

Three weeks later, a hard knock interrupted the Astronomy lecture Summer attended. She tensed when two police officers entered, whispered to the lecturer, and then turned and ran their eyes over the students. They called out a couple of names, and Summer watched as her fellow students gathered books and laptops to follow the uniformed men.

She recognized them as attendees of the weekend’s party and waited for her name to be called.

It never came.

The door closed behind the officers, leaving the remaining students in a whispering mess.

It only stopped when a loud sneeze cut through the class.

All eyes turned to Summer, who whispered a sorry and rummaged in her bag for her antihistamine tablets, only to remember she had mixed all of them into the umpteenth glass of wine of the blonde bitch — the way she thought of the young woman who had pined for summer.

As she blew her nose, she hid a smile when a satisfying thought crossed her mind.

She died for me, just like she wanted.

Who’s next?

© Rebel’s Notes

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