The school held a vigil for you today. Almost half the student body came to mourn you. It is the first time in two decades that a student was killed. Someone even brought two dozen of the unscented Walmart’s candles, costing less than a quarter each. They arranged it into a large heart with your initials slightly off-centered. The tiny flames flickered in the cold night, and each breeze threatened to snuff it out. One of them had already been extinguished. A girl crouched carefully beside the candles, staring melancholy into the distance. A moment later, she hurried to her friend’s side, peering at a phone screen. “Ugh,” she groaned, “that lighting makes me look so bad.” The two friends — both of whom never crossed paths with you before — seemed oblivious to the dirty looks other people were giving them. The administration ushered everyone to the gym, still stinking of sour sweat. A few people broke out into protests when told to sit on the floor. It seems as if the deplorable condition allowed some to find their voice. Your sudden death left a lot of them in a daze. At the back of the gym, a local news station set up a camera. The principal adamantly expressed how important it was for everyone to see how the community was united against the tragic times. A handful of your classmates were upset: they thought your vigil should be private, not broadcast for everyone to see. “I can’t believe it.” Your friend — you had so many of those — did not bother to keep his voice low. “Dude, I was this close to being in the car, too.” He shook his head. “Crazy, right? Might be dead if I didn’t smoke a cig.” He laughed humorlessly. “Never liked the smell, that one. Always told me that I would smoke myself to death….” What would have happened if he was in the car with you? It is a curious thing, is it not? How a single action could have changed everything. Perhaps, the extra weight might have slowed the car just enough. Maybe you would not have been speeding if you had someone to talk to. And with all the possible factors, you would not have been at the wrong place at the wrong time. You could have still been alive. But there is no use in wondering, is there? Nothing — words or tears — will bring you back. No one will see you again, at least not in this world except in the pictures. Your family lent a portrait of you beaming, one arm thrown around an unseen person. Even though it is a photo, there is no mistaking the lively sparkle in your eyes. It is an unsettling thought that they will not open by themselves anymore. One by one, your family, friends, and even some random classmates recalled their memories of you. They spoke of many different things, but it always circled back to how kind and selfless you were. How a single smile would have brightened even the most cold-hearted person’s day. Some wept. Others remained impassive. All of them mourned for the young life lost. You were only sixteen. Life is such a fragile thing. Just like a flame to a candle, even the gentlest sigh could extinguish it. Forty-eight hours ago, you were still alive, doing whatever kind and selfless thing you do. You smiled and made someone’s day better. But then, when you got into the car, you would never reach your destination. We are here, and one day, we will be gone. You were here, but now, you are gone.