Final Chance

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Third Person

Imogen rested her hand on the rough paintwork that coated the door and pushed it. Rough wooden splinter cut into her palm; shards of black paint crumbled to the floor. Conversation swirled in a dirty cloud of smoke, the stagnant stretch of cigarettes hides within the collaboration of mephitic odors.

A strong smell of alcohol wafted towards Imogen, like black plumes bellowing from the windows of a burning house. Imogen winded her way through the warm bodies to get to the bar. Luckily there was stool left unattended, which Imogen took. The bartender was there to take her order in a flash.

"Umm, I'm fine. Actually, have you seen Drew?" Imogen asked, nervously tapping her fingers against the wooden planks.

"Drew? Haven't seen him in weeks." The bartender kindly responded, sending a smile.

"Well, Thank you!" Imogen answered, dropping off from the stool and stormed her way through the sweaty coward.


Imogen pulled the key from the ignition and jumped down from her seat. No car seemed to be in the driveway. Did Drew walk from the cemetery to his house? Imogen strolled down the brick path leading to his porch. The porch step creaked under the feet making the silence disappear.

She knocked on the door, anxiously tapping her foot and waiting for a response. Several moments passed and nothing happened. Imogen knocked again making sure to hit the door with more force this time.


Imogen sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear, and started to turn back down to the porch steps. Before her foot touched the first step, the door opened. Instanly Imogen craned her neck, noticing disheveled Mark in his pajamas.  

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry, I was just wondering if Drew was home," Imogen asked, pulling the phone out from her pocket. "He left his phone."

"You can go check his room. I've been asleep since coming home from work hours ago," Mark responded, moving to the side and leaving space for Imogen to enter.

"Could you show me to his room?" Imogen asked, slightly biting her lip.

"Come on," Mark said.

Mark led the way towards the narrow hallway. Upon the walls were photos of Drew and his older brother from their younger years. One photo, in particular, caught Imogen's eye. It was a photo of Drew smiling, holding a bottle in his hand while wandering in his diaper.

"Here you go," Mark pointed at the door before continuing down the hall to his room.

Imogen eagerly twisted the knob, not being able to wait any longer to see if Drew was there. She had to forgive him; he was suffering now because of her. If it wasn't for her death; Drew wouldn't be in this situation. Imogen can't help but blame herself for this.

There he was, sleeping on the bed. His cheek blushed red as the sweat surrounded him. His chin was covered in dried blood leading down his neck. Imogen dashed out of the room and traveled to the kitchen. She filled a bowl with freezing water and seizing a cloth from the stove.

Once back in the room, Imogen soaked the towel in the water and squeezing the excess water. The splashes of water caused the silence to evaporated.

"Im-oge-n," Drew weakly answered.

He blinked his eyes several times trying to make sense of everything but instead, his vision became blurred.

Once his vision returned back to normal he realized his bed was no longer under him instead was the school floors. What am I doing at school? His chest felt airy like feathers in a pillow, unlike moments before. Drew ran his rough fingers through his jelled comb-over hair styled; I haven't worn my hair like this since freshman year.

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