Mikey leads the shorter boy through town, never glancing back at him. After a solid twenty minutes of walking, they arrive at a small park.
"Is this it?" asks Pete, looking at the cramped, snow-filled chunk of land. Mikey shakes his head and continues walking through the park. Minutes later he stops at the face of a large rock. He begins climbing, startling Pete.
"You...you want me to climb that?"
Mikey looks down at him.
"Yeah."
Pete shakes his head, but starts climbing anyway. Halfway up the rock, ice disguises itself as a stone and Pete grabs ahold of it. His hand slips and he hangs there, fifty feet above the ground. Mikey hears a Yelp and turns to look at Pete.
"Oh my god! Pete!"
He scrambles down to be level with the boy, only to realise that he's almost crying in pain. The rock that fell is slicing into his stomach. Mikey grabs his hand and hauls him up to a stable surface. He drags Pete to the top of the rock and lays him flat on his back. Tears are streaming down the boy's face, penetrating the dirt caked on his cheeks. Blood drips down his shirt, staining the rock beneath him. Mikey takes off Pete's shirt and covers the wound with his hands, applying as much pressure as he can muster.
"I'm calling 911."
He settles for after a moment. He picks up his phone and dials the three numbers. After a minute or two, he hangs up and kneels beside Pete.
"Can you walk?" He asks. Pete shakes his head. Mikey lies down beside him and shuts his eyes, subconsciously reciting a poem he wrote four years ago. Sirens wail and tires screech against the pavement, then voices. Lots of voices. Soon men and women are up there with the two boys, carrying Pete away, asking Mikey questions. He doesn't answer. He can't answer. It's his fault Pete's hurt.
