I swear I cant tell

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I don’t talk and I don’t write. It killed my best friend and it’ll kill me. It was an accident and it turned out fatal. He was lying in his own blood and I am still paying the price.  

   Building 9. My future hell. ‘Rehab’ to get over the grief of what happened. But there’s none. How can there be? There’s not enough time for grief. “Hi! Omigod I’m so sorry! You poor dear, you must feel terrible!” squeals Tami, plastering a pity look on her face. I scoff and stalk past her. “You would think that something like that would make you nice!” she squeals again, obviously hurt. I obviously don’t care as I keep walking towards Building 9. I sit in the back row and look around…he should be here. People file in, staring at me as they try to find a chair. “Is that her?” one guy whispers. “Yeah. Yep. It’s me. Now, do your ass a favor and find a seat,” I snap and the stares-and glares-intensify.
  He would help, if he were here. Some nobody sits next to me and takes out a Nirvana folder. Classy. I sigh and stare at the clock. Only 5 more hours.
  “Would anybody like to talk about how they feel? I realize it’s still hard to talk about, being only a month ago that it happened,” asks the shrink, 2 hours later. Tami raises a manicured hand, “I just feel so bad. He didn’t deserve this. He was so kind and he just…died.”  she says pretending to wipe tears from her face. B**** he never knew you so shut it. The shrink looks at me, “would you like to share?” he asks. I shake my head, “nope.” Tami is still wiping her face when I stand, less than a minute later. “Excuse me? Where are you going?” asks the shrink. “Out. Because this is bull, everyone in a circle when nobody knows what happened,” I snap. I’m nearly out the door when the Nirvana Nobody grabs my wrist, “let. go. now,” I growl and he shoves a piece of paper in my hand and lets go. I pause for a minute and glance at him. He stares straight ahead and I stalk out the door.
   They don’t know the truth, they don’t know him and they don’t know me. He was murdered because of his own stupidity. He had asked me to go along and I had. Now he’s dead. 
    I pause by the river and throw the rehab pamphlet in the water. I watch it float away before turning up the bank.
    Mom is home as I walk in the door, “how was it?” she asks and I curse at her. She flinches. I stare at the house, the last place he was before he died. He never went home from school. Just came right here. My mother looks at me, “You’ll need to open up,” she whispers. I stare at her, my weakened mother, suffering from a divorce and depression, as she tells me I need to open up. “Careful mom, who are you talking to?” I retort and head to my room. As I sit on the bed, I remember the paper that Nirvana Nobody gave me. I open it and what I see nearly makes me puke.

Tell them the truth

Tell the truth? Really? Its his handwriting and i recognize the paper as being from the customizable stuff I gave him for Christmas. I can’t tell them. I can’t tell anybody, I swore I wouldn’t.  My desk sits across the room with my pencil sitting on top of a paper I had been writing before it happened. I stand and walk toward it. I gasp as what I see

They deserve to know

Another note in his handwriting. Do they deserve to know? The room tilts and I put my hand on the desk to steady myself. No they don’t! It was supposed to be our secret, now he’s dead! My heart is thumping in my chest and i look around the room. He’s suddenly everywhere; in all the pictures on my walls, in all my stories. The room is spinning now and I grab hold of the desk,
He leaned in, his dark eyes shining, “I love you,” he said and I smiled. I took his hands and looked at them, they had ink and pencil stains on them. “I’ll miss you when you leave,” I said and he pulled me into a warm hug. “I know,” he said and he started dancing in a circle. Down in the Tunnel, his writings scattered the wall. “You there!” said a voice.  A man in all black walked towards us, holding a gun. 
I crumple to the ground shaking. Get behind me! I do as I’m told and watch in horror as the gunman shoots my beautiful boy and runs off. Manic laughter echoes in the tunnel and I watch the gunman retreat. “Damn,” I kneel down to where he lays, his shoulder bleeding bad. I stroke his head and fumble for my phone. “I’m sorry!” I say and he grins, handing me his book. His most prized possession. It has all his secrets and all his stories and for some godforsaken reason, it was something that the gunman wanted. I look down, but he’s already gone. I start shaking, sobs wracking my body. I hear a scream, my scream, and I feel cold hands grab my neck, squeezing. Good, kill me. I’ll see him again. I’ll see him…






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