author note: I felt sort of sad, and when I feel sort of sad I end up getting angsty with my favorite characters. Today, it was Canada ...though I guess this is more of America's point of view...but yea. Don't kill me.

OH. And I based this on Avril Lavigne's 'Slipped Away'

SORRY FOR THIS STORY'S SHORTNESS. It was just a test for my writer's block, really. xD

[ this would be Alfred's point of view ]

This is what you feared: no one would ever remember you. Oh how ironic, because now I wish I couldn't remember you, but you were the only thing on my mind. But, at the same time, remembering you meant remembering the best parts of my life, and I couldn't give that away. I want you to know that, if you can hear me, everyone showed up at your casket - and everyone knew your name. I guess it's true what they say, you never need something until it's gone. But I need you now, and you can't come back. Maybe if I just sit here staring at this stone with your name on it I can bring you back, maybe if I whisper that "I don't forget you" and "Please come back" you'll suddenly laugh with me again, your quiet little laugh that rang like a perfect melody. Maybe you'd sing again, with the voice of angels you always had, or even just say hello again. Please, Matthew please.

I can still remember the day you had slipped away from me, as I remember it with every shallow breath I take...

I was just wandering through your neighborhood, saying hi to your neighbors - they knew me well. I was a bit nervous to go into your house, as always I was afraid you'd get mad...though you never did. See, you were the one thing that made me, the hero, feel nervous and finicky, but at the same time you made me feel warm and loved. Any who, when I finally got the courage to go into your home (with the thought on my mind to ask about your constantly unlocked door) but instead of you running up and hugging me as a greeting, I was met with you lying in a puddle of blood, your arms limp. I could see white lines underneath the new, bleeding scars, signs that you'd done this to yourself for long. I felt something inside my break, shatter like weak glass. I couldn't feel anything, numbness as I managed to call 911, but I knew you were already gone. I hadn't even gotten the chance to say goodbye.

I watched the men take you away on the cot, and I'm pretty sure it was Iggy who got me to follow, I had no clue when he'd gotten there. I was just staring at the wooden floor and the blood that now stained it. The only thought on my mind was a heart monitor beeping it's little flat line.

I now sit in grass and wonder how it all went wrong. My brother, my sibling, practically a counselor for all my pitiful griefs, one who'd always be there for me. But I was never there for you.

And that's not right.