He looked just the same. Except now, his skin was cold. Death had sucked out the warmth, along with him.
"Logan," I reached for his hair, stroking it gently from his eyes. "Please move so I know you're not dead."
But all I heard was the sound of something burning in my ears.
"Please, anything," I hesitantly reached for his hand, and just held it in mine hard enough to turn my hand purple. I didn't care how cold his hand was.
Tired for not getting any answer, I moved my head closer to his ear, and whispered, " Logan, please, say something. Anything."
Nothing happened. What a fool of me to even think that he would wake up anytime soon and just hug me and kiss me and make everything alright again. I started to feel water coming out of my eyes. I didn't wipe them. I just let the hot tears stream down my face.
There I was, crying. Begging him to come back. For just one more second. One more word. One more kiss. One more chance. One more him.
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He Left Me Alone
Teen FictionHis name was Logan McHale. And i didn't know why he left me alone. Short Story #171 (06/28/2014)