I wrote this a while ago. Never thought to publish it.

I love Alaska. When I was reading it my very thought was this: Alaska Young IS me. I just… her death shocked me and it made sense to me. This is my coping story. Ha.

RIP Brenda. I hope wherever you are, is beautiful.

Reviews would be cool.

I don't own Looking for Alaska.

As Alaska lit her vanilla cigarette she looked through her old photos that were stashed under her bed. The photos were old and were very well worn out by the many hands touching the faces of the photo. She was drunk and her mind was in fog from kissing Miles and the pictures were suddenly getting blurry.

There was one photo of her and her mother holding hands while waiting in line for the zoo. Alaska was smiling, her perfect teeth blinding the cameraman and her mother doing the same. She smiles as she remembers, drinking in the nostalgia in. So she dumps the pictures on the floor and lays down on the bed thinking and wondering about her best and worst day…

That's all they'd ever be to her was days. So much happens in days. Someone is born, someone dies. That day happened to her mother. Too bad her mother was the latter, though Alaska knew she'd gladly take her place. Because Alaska was like that. She was selfish and she knew it. She could grab the whole world and the world would let her.

You could fall in love with her flaws, but she wouldn't let you. Alaska was an enigma, her own little mystery you would never solve, nor wanted to.

She could (and will) hurt you, manipulate, and help you as she pleased. She was the calm before the storm, almost like a play; she changes costumes before the final act and then she rips you like a hurricane. Because that's what she is: a hurricane, taking up innocent [good] people taking everything from them and then throwing them out. You'd think that she'd be satisfied…. It was never enough.

The labyrinth was her mind, she was stuck, she was a fucked, a girl too hard to solve. She'd never move if she didn't want to move. If Alaska had an opinion you better fucking listen to it. Or she'll make you listen. Her stories are the best and her cockiness the worst.

Who is Alaska? That which the sea breaks against?

Alaska: her own contradiction, her worst and best enemy.

You love and hate her because you don't get her but you want to. Why? Because you want to be her. But peel off the pretty, fucked up beautiful face and she's just a girl with only a few strings left. Holding on, but barely.

Alaska realizes this; she gets up and thrashes around her room, throwing everything she can reach, but saving the picture. Her final act coming soon the labyrinth yet to be revealed.

Alaska runs to the well-known room tears streaming down her face and she nearly kicks the door down. She sobs and screams and then says, "I have to get out of here!"

Pudge says something but she can't hear him. The only thing she can hear is the sound of her heart beating and the angst pounding against her veins because the hurricane is coming quickly and her need for destruction is much higher than before.

"I forgot! God how many times can I fuck up?" She's panting really ready to strangle both boys' necks, her anger at herself is scary because this is the second worst day ever. And Alaska has had a few.

"I JUST HAVE TO GO. HELP ME GET OUT OF HERE!" And so Alaska sinks to the ground head between her knees her eyes stinging from her make up smearing and going into her eyes.

"Just please distract the Eagle right now so I can go. Please."

They kept saying things but Alaska wasn't here anymore. She collapsed inside herself.

"Fuck, just get rid of the Eagle for me."

. There are mantras people have when they're trying to convince themselves that they are okay, or to help calm them down but those never worked for Alaska because she'd never be okay, but this fuck up was huge and she could never ever fix it, so she gave in and recited her mantra over and over again until she could go.

"God oh God, I'm so sorry," she said as she finally left the room to find her flowers.

As Alaska was stumbling she kept on wailing not sure what to say what to do. She saw someone come near her and she screamed at him.

"She's dead she's dead she's dead! EIGHT YEARS! She's dead!"

She forgot so she slumped to the ground crawling trying to find flowers but she was so drunk she just wanted to sleep. It was too fucking cold and she couldn't find any.

"I forgot!" she yelled pulling her hair.

No matter how much you think you know a person you find out in their moments of weakness how much you don't know about them.

And so Takuma let her go. She said nothing as she started the car trying to get to the grave.

And this is the tricky part… Alaska wanted to die. She wanted to die a long time ago, but she knew she couldn't die. No matter how stupid impulsive and self destructively selfish Alaska was, a part of her needed to live.

Though she was drunk she kept on pressing forward and forward trying to get there as fast as she could, hoping her mother wouldn't be too disappointed.

After.

People are people. You can't give them too much credit. They always think that they know a person because by a title, a best friend, they automatically "know them" but… do you really?

Alaska was not someone you could figure out. She didn't even leave hints. She left her "best friends" a mystery to solve. And it ended up like this: who knew Alaska more? And the answer is simple: no one.

Though they prided themselves with the last kiss, the last word, the last secret. Though it doesn't make sense when you think about it… do you really think Alaska thought about whom she is giving her last anything to?

Actions are something involuntary; when you punch someone you don't think about it you just do it. When you cry it happens in an instance. When you get angry it just explodes. With Alaska you never know because it happens just like any other action.

Yet people held onto her like she knew it was coming. They hold onto her last actions giving her more credit than needed. You can't just do that.

While the rest of the world figures out why and who and how Alaska is the way she is there was something put to rest. Her last words were unknown her actions never defined, the enigma never solved.

The labyrinth's walls coming down…. Slowly but not surely.

Somewhere far away in the great perhaps, Alaska sitting; smoking her vanilla cigarettes…. Somewhere in her own little oblivion with her smirking revenge…

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