I saw her, across the town square. I went after her, I wanted to save her. She walked quickly, aggrivated by something. By me?

“Stop!” I said, hoping that my cry would halt my spiraling downward friend.
The car hit the breaks too late and BAM. She was hit, laying on the ground, dying in front of me.
I told the doctors, “..anything I can do to help..”
My face. She stole my face. I remember dreaming that night.
In the morning, I woke in the hopsital, afraid to look in the mirror. But I did. And I screamed.
Jagged cuts and scars forming cluttered a face that was not mine. I was someone else. I wasn’t she. I was this evil person, who envied me.
My face lay on the pressure sensitive bed.
I dropped a vase of flower sitting on her stand next to me. I picked up the sharpest piece of glass and cut myself. We both died that day.

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