A Million Voices [UsUk]

A million voices

October 2018

Time went by so slowly. Day after day, night after night... It just became an awfully boring routine for Alfred, and he did not know how to stop it.

He had gotten used to it over time, though.

This particular day, Alfred woke up in a pool of sweat, gasping for air, holding his forehead as he panted, wide eyed, looking around the pitch black room of his. It was surely very early, but he couldn't help himself.

Where is Arthur?

Arthur is gone. He's gone. Arthur Kirkland...

Clouds. Rain. Thunder. Death. Blood. Screams. A million voices, all shrieking in terror like an angry banshee choir, ready to face somebody is dying. Somebody is going to die.

Help, help me, help me now, I can't do this.

No, no, NO! Arthur!

Arthur is dead.

He broke into a thousand of harsh, loud sobs, falling down onto his pillow, burying his face in it, breathing with difficulty. "N-no... A-arthur..." He gasped the words in terror, crying immensely, the feeling almost paralyzing.

Today was not a day like any other - it was not boring, a routine or anything like that.

It was October 16th.

Exactly a year ago, a terrible, devastating tragedy happened in one small apartment of London. Arthur Kirkland committed suicide, took his own life, took his last breath at the age of 23 years.

And a year had passed since Alfred Jones, his significant other, his lover, had to carry all his burden, all his pain, mistakes...
Alfred was now twenty years old, living his life with a lot of difficulty considering... Well, everything. Moving on was definitely something he didn't even work on doing.

Oh no... Why do I feel like this? What has gone into me?

All I hear is screaming. I see somebody dying. It's... It's... Arthur.

What day is it today, I wonder?

Oh. Oh my god. It isn't. Not today. It cannot be.

The 16th of October.

No.

I can't take it.

If I am destined to feel all of Arthur's pain... Then how is today supposed to feel?
This is going to hurt like hell, I can already imagine.

What if I won't be able to take it?

Alfred spent about fifteen minutes just laying down on the bed in complete darkness and silence which was only broken by a couple of sobs and whimpers of inner pain that the American had to go through at every desperate moment.

After the worst had gone away, he felt a bit more... Free. Sitting up on the bed, he felt his glasses on the bedside table, putting them on in a few swift  movements and taking his phone into his hands.

04:18, October 16, Tuesday
Reminder: send in paperwork for Braginsky at 3 PM
Alarm: set 6:00

"So it really is... that day." He muttered under his breath in disbelief as he turned off his mobile phone screen, putting it somewhere back on the bedside table. He felt defeated. There was no way that he was going to work, nor giving in that paperwork.

He had to deal with something much more difficult.

Death. The death of his closest person in his entire life, his lover, his everything. And he didn't care for anything else that day.