Spoilers: GRADUATION PART 2, do not read if you don't wish to be spoiled.

Note: This is just me mourning. It's very short and may be no good, but here it is. Written in under ten minutes, so just know that before you judge too harshly.

Disclaimer:The characters of BTVS belong to Joss Whedon and Co.

After the battle, the confusion becomes quiet. The EMS people are keeping themselves busy with the wounded, while the police help gather up the bodies of the dead. They don't ask questions. It is as if they knew that it is something they don't want to hear about. It'll go down in the books as another freak disaster.

I've been wandering around, cataloguing the dead and the living in my mind. I slowly move up the steps and I come across a body. Looking down at it, I stop as the name that goes with the face penetrates my brain.

I bend down, unsure of how I should feel. Taking a pale, limp hand in mine, I think back, back to the day I first met her. I was only four, so the memory is fuzzy, but I do remember she was wearing the nicest pink dress I had ever seen. Our parents introduced us at the Country Club. I had delighted in the fact that I was a whole six months older than her. While our parents played doubles in Tennis, we sat at one of the garden tables and played Barbies with an air of dignity.

So began our friendship.

And it was a friendship until our Junior year. We had done everything together and we were best of friends. She was the girl I told when I lost my virginity to some random jock my freshman year and I was the girl she told when she admitted to being anorexic.

We drooled over the same boys and giggled at all the losers together. I suppose at some point she had to have gotten tired of me dating at the boys she wanted to, but she never let on that she resented it. I'm sure she did, though. And I'm certain that resentment was brought to the surface last year when I abandoned our friendship.

I'm not sure if anyone ever really liked her beside me. Her parents didn't like her because they didn't know her. She raised herself, using her daddy's Gold card as a supplement for love. Most of the kids outside our group didn't like her because she was mean, but it wasn't her fault. I was like her once and I know why she was mean. It's much easier to pick on other people than it is to openly hate yourself.

I feel sorry for her, just as I used to feel sorry for myself. She was only trying fit in and make friends who would care about her. That's all she wanted, people to care.

I cared, but then I left her. It's no wonder she never accepted me back. She was hurt and I caused it because she thought I chose not to hang with her anymore. Just because I was dating someone from another group, didn't mean that I wanted to stop being her friend. From the moment we first met, I thought we'd be friends until death, and even then, we'd be up in Heaven, lounging by the pool and sipping adult beverages together.

But I was wrong. We weren't friends anymore. At least not outwardly.

I had noticed that whenever she and her flock would try to make fun of me, a look of hurt passed over her face. She hated it. I knew she did. In her heart, as well as in mine, we would always be friends.

I won't lie. The things she said stung and there will always be a part of me that hates her for making me feel that way, but that part is small compared to love I feel for her. She was my best friend for ages. The first time we shaved our legs, we did it together. The first time we went out on a date, we did it together. The boys hadn't wanted to double, but when we were together, we got anything we ever wanted.

So here she was, lying dead on the ground and I can't figure out how I feel. Do I hate her? Do I love her? Do I feel anything at all?

Before I get a chance to figure out, a strong man puts his hand on my shoulder and I look up. "I'm sorry, Miss, we're going to have to take her now." He nods down at the body. I nod at him, understanding that it was his job to collect the bodies of the dead. I let her hand slip from mine and stand up on shaky, war weary legs. "Do you think you could save us the trouble and tell us her name?" he asks me gently.

I nod again as I wrap my arms around my waist. "Harmony. Harmony Martin."

Giving one last look at the girl being lifted onto to a stretcher, I feel a little tear wind down my cheek.

This is how our friendship ends. But maybe when I die, I'll see her saving me a seat by the pool and our friendship and begin again.

Silently wishing her well, wherever she was, I turned and began to walk back down the steps. There were other people I had to see. I hope I won't find them dead on the ground like I found my friend, Harmony.

~**~

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