It’s April 18th, 2014, Good Friday. Around 8:20 p.m. I give you a call for the first time this week. You’re drunk and currently riding your bike home. We talk for a few before you go. You’re almost home, so I’ll call you when you get home.
Around 9:00 p.m. I call you back. You’re home now and sound slightly less drunk. We talk about random stuff for while. Then we get into deep stuff. It eventually leads to me telling you that I always want you in my life. I don’t want you to go anywhere anytime soon.
That’s when you reassure me that you don’t plan on going anywhere for another 50-60 years. You’re only 17, going on 18 next month in May. I’m 15 going on 16 in May as well.
You tell me that you will probably have a horrible death. “No dying away peacefully in your sleep for you?” I ask. “Nope.” You say. “I want to die by flames… fire… slow… and painfully… wouldn’t that be a sight to see, Tori? Me dying in flames… my skin bubbling… the smell of burning flesh mixed with gasoline…”
“And do you want to know the last thing you’ll hear?” I ask. “My own screams as I’m engulfed in flames?” you ask. “Nope,” I say. “It’ll be the sound of my heart breaking.” You sigh and I say, “I don’t want to lose you Demetri… I love you…”
“I know.” You say. “I love you too… you know… one time when I was really drunk and had a bonfire going, I thought about jumping into the flames…” You give a shaky laugh and say, “I even pored gasoline all over myself… but then I passed out ‘cause of how drunk I was… Fell backwards and hit my head bench and yeah…”
“You’re still here.” I say.
“I should have fallen forward instead of backwards… oh well…” You say.
“Well I’m glad you didn’t because then I would never have met you.” I say.
“You probably would have been better off if you hadn’t.” you tell me.
“I don’t think so… You’re one of my best friends, Demetri. I never want to lose you and I’m glad I met you.”
“Why am I like this, Tori? What’s wrong with me?” you ask.
“A lot of things... But everyone has something wrong with them, you just have more than the average person…” I say.
We talk a little bit more about that and a few other topics until I finally tell you about my short story called “My Boy” which I had written earlier this week. That’s when you told me this:
“Hey, Tori… you know how you say you hate it when you’re friends are going through stuff and you feel like you can’t help them?”
“Yeah…” I say wondering where this is going.
“I know how you can help me.” You say.
“How?” I ask.
YOU ARE READING
R. Short Stories
Non-Fiction"R. Short Stories" is a collection of small, random stories and poetry that I write in my free time when I'm not working on another long-term project, when I'm avoiding doing that said project. Enjoy! :) -R. Stars Please like me on Facebook if you...
