I have a busy life. I work a lot and I have a 1 yrs old. I have a fan fiction called How to Lose Arnold in Ten Days I love writing it and it is doing so well. This story however compelled me tonight and though I should be asleep it haunted me until I wrote it. I may continue it I may not. With everything on my plate the only way I'm continuing this is a concept of supply and demand. If I have people demanding for it I will supply. Happy Readings!

13 Reasons Why

Prologue

"If time was a string connecting all of your stories, that party would be the point where everything knots up. And that knot keeps growing and growing, getting more and more tangled, dragging the rest of your stories into it." – Jay Ashor

Helga's vision blurred color fading into dripping visual water paints. The world was tilting on its axel. Sight is seen through several separate images displayed as a whole together. Helga's perception of sight had been drastically distorted. Her vision had become one entire display of objects everything mingling into one color; everything combining to form the shade of red.

Red was all Helga registered in front of her. Why, the world was painted red? Red represented more than merely a primary color. Red was a manifestation of anger and frustration. If any individual could comprehend what it was like to harbor anger inside one's self it was Helga G. Pataki. Helga knew what it was to be enraged with the life that is thrust upon you. Understood what it meant to be provoked towards violence. Until, finally your rage burned a scorching red shriveling everything and everyone around you. Eventually that anger elapses into hatred, when that anger has no victim to inflict its self upon it inverts towards personal self; it transforms into self loathing. Red is the color of hate!

Passion is a burning flame lit inside the very soul. Burning hot and red is the need of a passionate existence. Helga had once known what it was to be passionate. She had known what it was like to be driven. Known what it was like to have goals that you would not relent from until you met the full measure of those goals. To have a strong compelling urge to be accomplished was something Helga had long forgotten to feel. She had once been an individual who supported her goals full heartedly unwavering in opinions. Once she decided a topic held substance she clung to it until it reached its peak. Her life was at its own personal peak. Red is the color of passion!

Love is a many splendor thing. Love is a rich emotion. Love is the depths of the shading of red; a single red rose. Love is the most complex of all human emotions. Helga was most acquainted with the need of love. Helga had spent her entire existence with the knowledge of what it is to suffer from unrequited affections. Helga had spent from her very birth most of her time dealing with the damages of neglect. Forever unwanted by her parents, forever unwanted in her friendships, and forever unwanted by the one boy who had been the only thing to ever matter. However torturing it was Helga above all else knew what it was to hold inside your heart a love that could not be neglected inside yourself but unwilling to be expressed to others. Love was a rich bloody texture. Red is the color of love!

Now as Helga towered over the edge of the building her vision blurred a glowing agonizing red! All her emotions, all her woes, her entire living existence boiling down to this single moment. When a single rock is thrown into the ocean it appears slender and small as if it could make no impact on such an engulfing amount of water. However, once tossed into the ocean as a rock sinks it leaves a rippling effect. As the rock sinks to rot at the bottom grains of sand circular patterns cause an effect as it warps the shape of the ocean waters. Even something as implicit as a sinking rock has a cause and effect. Helga considered herself a sinking rock and her fall into the depths of the blue sky would have an impacting effect far greater than herself.

She felt a pleasure in knowing that though she suffered now in this moment that it would never form into a memory. Revenge is a dish best served cold; what Helga had planned for the fools who led her here was a revenge chilled to a degree that challenged the arctic. After tonight her sufferance would forever cease. For the group Helga had targeted sufferance was merely beginning and would follow them to the grave. Would the grave be eternal rest for her once tormenters? The tables had reversed and Helga Pataki would ensure that they rested uneasy even in the hereafter. Helga on the other hand knew that she would finally understand what it is to truly rest. Helga would finally understand inner peace; rest. Helga would entrance herself in an eternal rest.

Helga was no longer compelled by her mixed thoughts on primary colors and feelings. For the first time since she could remember Helga's brain paused, she was empty, empty of any thoughts at all. There was a pleasure swelling up inside her chest. It pleased her to know that she had known the last scandal in town and she was the last to share this secret with a select few. Though, she'd acted tough in all actuality Helga had spent her life powerless. In her death Helga would at last win the power struggle taking complete control over so many lives! It was almost a shame to her that she wouldn't be sticking around long enough to witness her gain. All is well that ends well.

She stretched out her ivory arms and her skin seemed to glow fluorescently under the pale moon light. Her platinum hair cascading a blonde ocean waving down her spine. The wind whistled the only sound to penetrate the night air. She tugged her pink ribbon from her hair and it fluttered into the star gleamed night. She lifted herself on to her tip toes poising herself into the form of a beautiful ballerina. She was about to embark into her last dance. Helga had always been the odd one out; always the black sheep. In this quiet moment on top of her roof top she felt complete. She felt like a small girl again dreaming about growing up to be a ballerina. Her sapphire eyes lit up a million candles reflecting and igniting her soul inside. Her teeth broke through the surface of her pale skin to form a smile. Helga's smile was elegant and as white as winter's first snowfall. Never before had Helga been so peaceful and so pleased. She spent her last minute of life with a cleared head completely happy. "Bye; Bye, Black bird!" Helga exclaimed to no one in particular. She leapt into the air a beautiful bird tumbling down from the sky.

All the while well Helga was committing her last physical act a mysterious dark figure was putting into effect the beginnings of her mentality. A large brown parcel package was being lugged across the pavement as the figure dragged it through the dark alley ways. Inside that box contained Helga's secrets. Inside the box were recordings much like a diary. Only, it wasn't only Helga's secrets at risk but perhaps the entire neighborhood! The leering figure rang the door bell and ran. Rhonda Wellington Lloyd opened her front door to discover a mysterious package and this dear reader is where our story begins. Our story begins where another girl's story ends. Though Helga is gone her story lingers itching to be told. This is the endearing story of Helga Geraldine Pataki; listen with caution.