Is that clock moving backwards? She asked herself. Everything was going against her. Sara's last class was Art, her favorite class. The Art room was on the top floor, and the chemistry room was on the ground level. Corrine would have to catch Sara before she got far.

After waiting for what had seemed an eternity, the bell rang, the sound of heaven's trumpets to Corrine's ears. She picked up her now empty bag and raced to the top floor, still praying in her head.

God, if you're really up there, you'll let her be there, you will. I can't believe she's wearing nail polish again. You know what that means.... Corrine didn't even want to think about it. Maybe it was different. Maybe Sara just liked to wear nail polish. They said she was better. But they've been wrong before. Corrine finally reached the top floor. She saw Sara slowly coming out of the Art room, taking down her paintings that had been proudly displayed by the teacher. Corrine remembered that Sara had been in tears when the Art teacher, Mr. Bensley, had asked her permission for him to display them.

"What's wrong?" Corrine had asked. "I thought you would love to have your work displayed. You certainly enjoyed doing it." Sara was crying. She wiped her face with her manicured hand.

"I don't want him to display them because they are awful. He's doing it to embarass me." Corrine was confused. She thought Sara's artwork was amazing. It was a bit odd that they were so dark for someone so bubbly and cheery, but they showed true talent. Several people didn't believe that Sara was truly only fifteen.

Of course, this had happened before they found out Sara was sick. She was found on her bathroom floor one day, lying next to an empty bottle of sleeping pills. Her parents rushed her to the hospital and had her stomach pumped. Afterwards she was sent to another section of the hospital, which most people called the pyscho ward. She was diagnosed as chronically depressed and had a paranoid personality disorder.

"Sara." Corrine said, watching her blonde friend take down a self portrait. The girl in the painting had empty eyes. Corrine remembered when Sara had looked that way. She had gone to visit her in the psycho ward, and there was nothing in her eyes. She had been doped up, put on anti-depressants. Sara later described that they had sucked all of her human feelings away, and she was empty. "Sara," Corrine said again when she didn't answer.

"Oh, hi Corrine. Be with you in a moment." She brought the picture down, rolled it up and snapped a rubber band around it. "Okay, what?" Sara smiled and folded her hands on her lap.

"Um...Sara...I couldn't help but notice your hands." Corrine blushed. Smooth mooth, she thought. Sara laughed.

"Oh, these?" She said, holding them up. Her hands had never been beautiful, and were usually covered in paint and scars. The scars where from when she was sick. Or when she became sick, Corrine corrected herself.

"Um, yes. About the nail polish." Sara gave her a puzzled look, but laughed again.

"Oh Corrine. You worry too much. I was just rifling through some makeup and found my old nail polish. No big deal." Corrine laughed with her, but couldn't help but notice that her friends eyes were as empty and lifeless as those in the portrait.

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