-- J O H N --
John staggered into the spare room that he and his uncle George shared to drink and listen to the radio as Elvis Presley would be playing in the background.
He took a swig from Uncle George's metal flask and snickered; tilting his head back as he attempted to drink more. Uncle George playfully snatched the flask away, nudging his nephew to calm himself down---for he didn't want him to get in trouble by getting a hangover the next morning.
They listened to the radio for about five more minutes, and once the advertisements came up, Uncle George stood to his feet and made his way to the door. Unfortunately, he collapsed on the floor.
John began to panic. Rushing over to his uncle, he feverishly checked for a pulse. There wasn't a faint throb erupting from his heart.
He was gone.
"Mimi!"
--
The ambulance came and placed Uncle George on the gurney. John raced inside the vehicle, not giving a signal fuck if Mimi objected him into going. He adored his uncle, and he wanted to be the one to be by his side in case he awoke from this drunken slumber.
"Uncle George?" John whimpered, tears streaming down his face. "Uncle George, if ye can hear me, please don't go to Heaven. I don't want ye to."
The paramedic sighed, feeling sorry for the young man.
"We all die, son." he said. "We'll try our best to save 'im. I promise you tha'."
John nodded, then placed his hand over George's aging ---and possibly decaying--- hand. He sniffled, then looks down at the old man and wishes for him to awaken.
--
-- P A U L --
Paul laid awake that night, thinking about John. Usually, the older lad would phone him as soon as he got home to inform the younger boy he was safe.
But for some reason, he didn't do it tonight.
Paul sat up and lurked around the obscure area of his room, the only sound audible was Mike snoring like a crashing bore.
Paul looked at the clock. It read 2:35AM.
Just as he was about to close his eyes shut for another ounce of sleep, the phone rang.
Paul sat up abruptly; making his way into the kitchen at a hurried pace due to the fear of his father beating him.
"Hello?" Paul mumbled, turning around to make sure his father was still asleep.
"Hi, 'Macca." It was John. Though he wasn't his usual smart-assy self. His voice sounded tired, and maybe a hint of depression.
Paul turned back around, exhaling a breath while facing the pale wall.
"What's going on, John?"
"Nothing. I couldn't sleep."
Paul furrows his eyebrows, a wave of concern flushed over his slightly aching body.
John sighed. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."
Static wavered over the other end of the line. Paul placed the phone away from his ear and looked at the phone piece; hearing the faint beep at a distance.
The line went dead.