In memoriam

In Memoriam.

It is with great sadness that we announce the passing of Eleonora Pacini, who departed this world on the twelfth of January at the age of twenty.

Eleonora was born on the twenty-first of December to Carlotta and Marco Pacini in Prato, Italy. An avid reader, she was studying literature at a local university. She will always be remembered for her contagious laugh and bright smile.

She was known for her love of her community and will be remembered for her impact, such as her summers spent volunteering at the local library, where she helped children with their reading skills.

The memorial service will be held this upcoming Sunday.

May Eleonora rest in peace and her memory be a blessing to all those who knew her.

***

Missing: Eleonora Pacini.

Have you seen this person?

Eleonora Pacini,

Went missing on the eleventh of January,

20 years old,

160cm,

Brown hair,

Brown eyes,

Last seen wearing a white sweater over a crimson skirt, with brown leather boots, and accompanied by her ex-boyfriend.

Please contact: 08897565230

***

Remembering: Eleonora.

Eleonora. Born on the summer solstice, to two common people, who both worked in a local textile factory. A beloved daughter and friend. She was sweet, and generous, and lit up every room with her smile. She is survived by her parents and has been reunited with her grandparents.

Is that what they will write if I’m next?

If. I know I am. It’s the only way this story can end, I have attempted everything, and whenever I try to disappear, he finds me.

Will they share childhood anecdotes, at my funeral? Will they say my death was ‘such a shame’, and the result of ‘an awful tragedy’? Will they say there was nothing they could have done? Will they hide all the calls I made to the police? All the insistent threats and text messages I received and tried to report? Will they blame me for choosing to be with him in the first place, saying it was my fault, I should have known better, despite him having changed months and months after we started dating?

Will they realise I tried to save myself but no one took me seriously?

***

Remembering: Elly (with a y- due to family members wanting to give her an ‘exotic’ name).

I can imagine what photo they will choose for the service. Taken on my latest birthday, I wear a paper crown. For once my smile doesn’t seem that unnatural, my hair is curled with blonde tips from how my faded lilac dye. Dark brown eyes you, that seem pupilless in that. One of the only days I hadn’t covered up my birthmark with concealer, shaped like a lopsided heart over her left eye. My grandmother’s necklace that I always wore, with a crescent moon pendant. Behind me, one of my bedroom walls, adorned with postcards and photos, band posters and pastel paper leaves.

Will my best friend read that poem by Cristina Torres-Cáceres, before the beginning of the ceremony?

Will my mother stand in front of an audience of strangers, who say they have been marked deeply by this tragedy, and talk about me?

What will she say?

Elly was a precocious little girl. She learned to read and write at the age of three and wrote her first short story at seven years old. She was at the top of her class in all subjects. As a child, she had large front teeth, something she eventually grew in, and curly hair she never learned to take care of. She dreamed of being an author of contemporary fiction, and a fan of Sally Rooney and Hanya Yanagihara. In two years she would have graduated. She was considering getting a master’s degree, and planning trips abroad with her friends.

***

Remembering: Nell (a nickname given by the same person who took her life).

Will anyone remember who I was before this? Or will I become a martyr and a cautionary tale?

Maybe they might even blame me. I angered him, he’s right to be jealous, it’s my fault for attracting all that unwanted attention.

All I had to do was not walk alone at night,

Or just walk at night at all,

Or dress provocatively,

Yes, my school uniform counts, couldn’t I have switched to a skirt?

Or speak to other men,

Yes, even my cousin, how was he supposed to know we were related?

Or talk back,

What do you mean you had different opinions?

Or say no to him,

You’re together, why don’t you want to? Well, no wonder he was furious, you should have put up with it, he’s a man, it’s normal for him to want that.

Do they even know how hard I tried? To fit in, to make him happy? Or will they just remember how fast I changed?

Will they ever know how many times I wanted to end things, but I couldn’t? I’d block him but he’d get a new number and text me, he’d say that his life didn’t matter if I wasn’t in it, that he was the only one who would ever love me as much as him, that he would end himself if I broke up with him.

And my God, I wanted to help him.

But I know what they won’t say:

Nell soon became as skinny as a twig, after being encouraged to work out, but was then criticised for her body changing, for the loss of her curves. She stopped cutting her hair, and let it slowly turn to brown again. She ceased to wear glasses, choosing contacts instead. Her colourful makeup was gone, he prefers ‘water and soap’ girls, but could then be heard asking her why she started putting so little effort into her looks. He once loved her dresses, but then started calling her a whore and saying she should cover up, who knows what other men might think and do to her? And yet he wasn’t happy she had started dressing ‘like a nun’.

Remembering: Him.

And I know exactly what they will say regarding him.

A monster. A crazed psychopath and a narcissist (without knowing what those terms really mean), he took the life of his poor girlfriend, and he let his anger control him. He looks remorseful, and on the verge of tears, he snapped and killed his girlfriend.

He will say he didn’t mean to, he will blame his fragile mental state, how he had planned to end himself as well, but couldn’t go through with it in the end.

Things will then come out about my character. How he thought I was cheating on him, that I was a satanist, that I was drunk, and then people will start focusing on that, not on the fact that I was stabbed to death.

The same words will be said by the same crowd that gathered when another woman just like me was killed. ‘What a tragedy, what a shame, rest in peace.’ And the same crowd will gather next week, and then the week after that. And then I will be one of the many.

I wish to be the last, for my death to change something, but it won’t, I know it won’t. It doesn’t matter that my school will observe a minute of silence in my memory, that my friends will take part in every protest against femicide and abuse. As soon as it is convenient, I will be brushed aside, defined as an outlier, not the result of premeditated actions by someone part of a group that has been excused since the beginning of time.

But for a brief moment, they will scream my name.