Three In the morning and I haven’t got a clue what state has become of me to feel this way.

11 pm:

Five minutes no more is all it takes write a short skit I’ve been working on for Sarah, though I hate that woman with all my heart, she’s the reason I have enough cash to get by. Stapled together, slipped in the envelope, shipped out and out of mind. I sit back to think of the events that passed the last week or so, and all that happened to put me in this state of depression. As hard as I try to push the image away, the memory of Jonathan’s shocked face seems to stick. But that was done and over with, I didn’t have a place in his life nor did he in mine.

And yet, when I think of how I could’ve been there… how I could’ve chosen not to let my own selfish needs get the best of me. One wrong turn, that’s all it took to end Jonathan’s life. I think back to whenever I had trouble writing, he’d be sitting right beside me “I want you to stop thinking about if this thing’s going to be used or not, let your inner feelings pour out and don’t stop writing, you have to keep that flow man”… to be honest I never put his advice to use. It’s a wonderful idea to let your inner feelings pour out and all but, what he didn’t understand is that feelings get you kicked out on the street; people don’t want to listen to your feelings, unless it has action thrown in here and there, and that defeats the purpose.

I guess that’s the reason why Jonathan got shot down, he was just too open with everything and he let his guard down when he shouldn’t have. A chill ran up my spine, and nostalgia hit me like a sudden unexpected high. I was hit with memories of when things were good, when no one drank their life away, or sobbed for hours on end, of course I was talking about when I was twelve, but even still, those times were good. I was reminded of the times me and Jonathan would visit the old abandoned shop on Quarter Street, we’d run out screaming every time. What I now knew to be a bad case of rat infestation, I used to think of as ghosts. These thoughts began to grow, and somehow they lead into when I stole Jonathan’s girlfriend, sure it was cruel; but she was so hot. I realized I still had work to do and pushed the thoughts from my mind, I slipped one of Jonathan’s hoodies on and headed out into the rain. Yeah, I tried to stay focused on what I was doing, but nothing could push the image of poor sobbing Jonathan out of my mind, so I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that I tripped while going down the stairs. Slowly, I pulled myself back up, walking slowly towards the door as I turned the knob, I noticed my knee was bleeding, quite heavily too. Deciding it didn’t really matter, I continued out the door. I came to another flight of stairs; my knee was shaking so badly, I tripped again. This time I had landed on my elbow, I once again, got up and continued walking. Within the dark red mess that was my elbow, you could see a very small fraction of creamy white that was my bone. Holding my elbow, I laughed, the site of my now visible bone reminded me of the time Jonathan broke his leg while trying to balance on the neighbor’s roof. Laughing too hard and not paying attention I bumped into a very short, stout sort of woman. The next thing I knew she was screaming from the site of my wounds and punched me, I walked away with two pretty bad wounds and now, a black eye. After a while I came to Quarter Street, memories flooded me like tsunami, and with two bleeding wounds and black eye, it was pretty hard to focus where I was going. When I came to the shop, it was all boarded up, it took a few minutes, but eventually I broke in. This had been my place for storage for the last few years for things I didn’t want anyone else to know I owned. For the last two days though, it had been my storing place for the things I needed to complete this final task to wipe Jonathan’s memory away completely and start a new, much cleaner life. With that, I grabbed the shovel I’d stored behind some old tarnished pots, and the small tin I’d stored in one of the ceiling panels. I headed out the door and walked about a half a mile out into the thick greenery. I no longer had any distractions that were bothering me, and started digging. I wiped beads of sweat from my neck; it was below freezing outside, why was I so warm? About a half an hour later, I was finished digging the hole. On the verge of tears, I sprinkled the ashes into the grave. As hard as I tried to control it memories of me and Ashlyn bombarded me. Her long pale blonde hair, the way it bounced softly against her face. Three in the morning, and I haven’t got a clue what state has become of me to feel this way. I pulled on the strings of Jonathan’s lime green hoodie, there were still blood stains on them and I could still smell the scent of smoke and burned skin lingering around me. Those memories could torture me all they wanted to; I would never feel pity on Jonathan for getting in the way. My job was done now, and I couldn’t think of anything that could ruin it, there was one question I had though, how did the person who boarded the shop up not smell Jonathan’s corpse?