❝ I don't even know why I even think of him so much, but I do, and it hurts.❞
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A boy by the name of Lucas Middleton dies of a terminal illness, and with an assembly in school, his death changes the lives of a peculiar group of people.
A story that...
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LUCAS
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - "WHITE TULIPS"
SEPTEMBER 21ST, FRIDAY
"NINE DAYS."
I scribbled, pausing as I took another read at the paragraph that I had written. I sighed in annoyance, crossing out the entirety of the paragraph, letting out a deprecating noise at the words.
I pulled out my earphones in frustration, the Broadway musical soundtrack that usually soothed me still playing before I tapped on the pause button.
I wanted to write so much, to go on forever without a pause or a stop in my flow of writing, describing all the quiet periods of suffering that I had endured and come accustomed to, but I couldn't.
The moment the coloured tip of the pen touched the plain paper, the words scrambled back down my throat, only to never see the light of day again.
It was, in a way, morbidly captivating. The thoughts that I had been hiding like filthy secrets, the feelings that had been too shameful for me to ever admit for more than two-thirds of my life, all written down into physical, legible words.
But it just wasn't enough.
It was never enough.
Perhaps it was just an immediate reflex, to never express any kind of emotions like these towards him, to never let him notice, and to automatically irradicate anything that would inform him of the aforesaid emotions.
Perhaps it was the idea of him reading the words, to finally be told of how I viewed him in my world, to finally understand how idyllic his presence was alone, to finally understand the different ways that I had admired and treasured the sight of his smile in my mind, and to comprehend how I would willingly offer the entirety of my being, just for him, and no one else.
To realise that, while his world orbited around something, or someone else, mine has always orbited around him. Spinning, spinning and spinning.
Perhaps, I was just having writer's block and was simply making up excuses so I didn't feel as bad for my inability to write.
And as I contemplated how to express the emotions I had been feeling into a comprehensible vocabulary, a voice rang out.
"Lucas!"
The wooden door was ajar, opened just enough so that his head could pop in, and wisps of his brown curls could be seen. He waved, the corners of his lips raised into a bright grin as he stepped into the room.
