"And while she wishes she was a dancer
And that she’d never heard of cancer
She wishes God would give her some answers
And make her feel beautiful."
--Innocent, by Our Lady Peace.
There she lay. Still. Young. Dead. Alone in a large dark theatre, sprawled elegantly across the stage. She always did have such grace.
Cher could not believe her eyes, she simply stared, blinking hard. Still, Cher looked intensely upon her friend, as if looking somehow make her see that the deep red were just scarlet cloths, like in another one of her many plays. Jules always was alive, fiery, brave. An actress, an insurrectionist, a rebel. Somehow, what she lacked in looks, Jules made up for in charm, grace and imagination. And such imagination she had.
Perhaps it was all meant to end in this way. Her death did strangely mirror her life; dramatic, elegant, and red. Theatric and poetic to the end. Cher always wondered if Jules did it all simply to feel beautiful, since she could not look it. Well, it was too late to know that now. After all, Cher would not want to dishonour the dead.
And as dear dear Jules lay there, still, young, and dead, in a most peculiar way, she was beautiful.
Fin
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