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Frannie sat on her bed, tears streaming down her face and dripping onto her dirty t-shirt. She'd been wearing it for two days. She hadn't showered in three.

She was hopeless. She was a loser. She was the biggest fuckup the world had ever seen. How could anybody stand her? Her, with her pimpley face. Her, with her greasy blonde hair. Her, with her dull blue eyes. Her, with her scarred wrists. Her, with her bad thoughts.

Her, wishing for rope but too cowardly to get it.

She had no real friends. She had just broken up with her boyfriend and he was ignoring her. She was making a C in math. She was terrified to even get out of bed in the morning because she was scared of getting hurt, over and over and over. 

She knew that her dad had a pistol downstairs in his drawer. She was never supposed to touch it, of course. It was always loaded, in case of thugs or whatever. What if, when her mom was outside doing a cheerleading lesson, she took it? She put it to her head and ended it? It would be easy--just pull the trigger and escape. 

But she couldn't do that. She was still clinging to the thought that maybe, maybe someone cared about her. But who would want to care about a depressed loser who never even gets invited to birthday parties? 

She turned on her laptop, typing in the password with leaden fingers. She opened Tumblr glumly and started to cry again. 

She saw a link--something that brought an old thought in her head. WFW. The place where she'd honed her writing skills and made friends who actually cared about her.

She opened the website adress, scrolling through recent activity. She saw all of her friends, most of them still there.

Red, Robo, Rainy. Arti, Wetty, Tangle, Brighty. Countless others whose names brought back old memories of midnight chats and lots of "XD" 's. For the first time in a while, she smiled a genuine smile. She made a blog post, expecting nobody to remember her. In the first five minutes, it had around ten comments. Then twenty. It grew and grew, old and new users welcoming her back with open arms.

She started to cry again, but this time it was a happy cry. 

Thank you. 

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