Dear Colton Carrier,

If I were dead, all my siblings could have their own room.

Today, this post is all about my funeral.

This is about the big hats and the canes I want my funeral attenders to have. All in black and white, yes. Like My Fair Lady. If it gives you a headache, you're free to go. My guests will laugh and chat and whisper rumors, telling crazy stories of my adventures-- like, like, I'm Bilbo Baggins or somebody.

                                   What adventures? Well, I'm yet to have them.

At my funeral, I want 67 boys to confess their love for me. At least. Even if they're lying. Because it's a lot less difficult to say "I love you" to a beautiful little dead girl. Right?

I want that boy who was with me in Brother Filmore's class to come and I want him to play Halo by Rihanna... or Beyonce. I don't really know the difference. But I do know that that song made me cry when he played it... and I do know that it's not by Jordan Sparks..

I want last year's A Capella Choir to sing Thou Gracious God at my funeral.    
Oh dear.. I do hope they're not all dead. Especially not Cameron Leavitt, because he's the best. 

And in my viewing, I want to look like Juliet did in the 1968 film, when everyone thinks she's dead. I want to be thought of as the most beautiful, romantic, stylin' dead girl Warenski Funeral Home has ever seen.

But I don't want to be pushed out in my coffin to float forever on the sea. I don't want Lancelot's flaming arrow to ignite my sailing casket. I don't want to be buried in satin and sunk in a river at dawn. I don't even want to be layed down in a bed of roses. And I especially don't want anybody to keep my ashes in their blue puppy-paw-print urns. I want a good, spooky, old-fashioned, ground burial. In the dark, yes, I want my burial to be at night. Everyone will hold lanterns and the shadows will be cast across their pale faces. They'll know not to be too afraid, because I wouldn't let the other ghosts haunt them. I'll be their guardian angel.

I want my favorite bench to be my headstone. So those 67 boys can sit on my bench of a headstone at full moon and write poems about how awfully stuffy it must be down there, in the dirt, for me. They'll write of how they wished I'd come breaking through the clean-cut grass right then, so I could sit on their porches and talk their heads off, just like old times, before my tragic death.

And it must be tragic, for I wouldn't want anything else. I've gotta be interesting, even when I'm dead.

I want everyone who has ever looked at me to come to my funeral. Anyone who has ever thought of me at all. I guess Mr. Nelson could come, because, although I'm not on the football team, I thought he might've looked at me when he was calling roll that day.  But I'm not totally sure.

But he's thought of Phyllis, and that's good enough for me.

My family will know just what to do when I die, because I have my plans all written down. In my Dead Journal is where my plans are. And my Dead Letters will be sent out the moment I die. They are letters to say things I couldn't say to people when I was living. Yes, what if they die before me? I already have letters written to people who have died before I could speak to them, I figure they will read through my Dead Journal as an angel. God will work something out for me.

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Dear Colton Carrier,
I think you're amazing and I've never let anyone convince me otherwise. I've thought so ever since 9th grade at Mountain Ridge. I don't know, I think we had Computer Tech together... maybe not. I feel like I can see right through you and I know what you are really like. My sort-of-people tell me "you don't know him, you don't know the things he's done" and I say, "shut up. neither do you." But I think that I know you. I've watched you for years now, we've always had a class together, and you might be the only first-impression-person who has never let me down.. at all. And maybe I just don't know you and maybe you really are completely rotten like my judgmental friends think, but I want you to know that I think you are a very sweet boy and I don't give a crap what anyone tells me. Nothing will change my mind, because I think you're wonderful.

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And maybe it might seem creepy.. like, a little stalker-ish. But I like creepy and I don't mind stalkers too much. And, on this blog, it is purely anonymous... for now. But you will all forget me by the end of the term, which is strangely comforting.

Now, this funeral may seem like a lot... but on days like your funeral, everything can be all about you.. and none of your neighbors will even hate you for it.