~This is something I randomly came up with a while back, I decided to post it on here. I'm sorry if there's any mistakes, I wrote this extremely late at night and I was tired, plus I just kind of made it up. I'm currently trying to get into writing more and write more better. I draw and role-play a lot, I mean daily, so... You know. I know it sucks, no hate please. Thank you.~ (( And when you see a word with slashes before and after it, it means there is emphasis on that word. ))

"... I'm sorry..."

You should be.

"I... I..."

Kyle wasn't in the right state of mind, he was talking to himself, no one was there in his room with him, he was crying, he felt guilty, Kyle's never felt like this. Never acted like this. There he was, inside of his dark room, against a wall, hugging his knees to his chest, sobbing. He was crying, his insides were torn, he just wanted to die he felt so bad. He didn't die, his friend did, not just an ordinary death either, it was unlike the others. Kyle blamed himself.

"Ngh.. I'm sorry.."

No, it was /your/ fault.

"... I... I..."

Speechless twat.

"Kenny..."

Kenny was murdered. He always died, actually, but this time it wasn't funny. Kyle knew he could've did something, or could he have? Kenny, yes, was murdered in front of Kyle, they didn't see Kyle though, he was watching. It's not like he intentionally sat there and watched for any enjoyment, he couldn't help Kenny, he would've been killed himself, he knew he would've.

Blood.

"No.."

Cries.

"No.."

Your friend.

"No!.."

Kyle quickly rose from his previous position, throwing the closest item to him, a book, at the other side of his room, hitting the wall across from him. Kyle looked at the blank wall in front of him, nothing. Tears began to stream down his cheeks, he never knew someone could cry so much. He put his hands against his head, in fists, shaking his head. He inhaled deeply, biting his lip, tears leaking from his eyes. He leaned back against the wall behind him, sliding down it slowly, almost in the sitting position he was in previously. He cried, his body rocking back and forth slightly. His parents didn't hear Kyle, they didn't know his room was full of shame, guilt, anger and sadness, but most of all, he had lost a friend.

"I-I'm so sorry.."

Really?

"Yes, I-I.. I could've.."

You could've what?

"... I-... I don't.."

Kyle couldn't form words anymore, he was about to say he could've saved Kenny, but could he have? He would've been murdered himself for getting in the middle, and did that make Selfish? He was overloaded with guilt and loss, it tearing him from the inside, to the outside. No one's going to feel fine, not guilty, after they've watching their friend killed, it was an awful sight, it was gory, bloody, and painful, specially when it's your friend you're watching die. Why Kenny? Why him? Why now? Would he come back, he always did...

You're a pussy.

"N-No.."

You are, you wouldn't stand up and fight for him.

"I-I would've died...!"

Selfish, you wouldn't give your life for him? He /was/ a best friend.

"..."

I thought so.

Kyle sat there, arguing with himself, his inner self, his /guilt/. Kenny died, and he felt it was his fault, he could've called the cops, they would've arrived late he's sure. He couldn't step out in front of a murder, no one in the right mind would, unless they really cared enough, cared enough to give their life for the person whom they were saving. Kyle did care, he cared so much about Kenny, he did, he did, he did! He kept reminding himself those words, he loved Kenny as a best friend, Kenny was always there for him, and Kyle watched him die. How would he live with this guilt for the rest of his life? What if Kenny /didn't/ come back, what if Kenny knew Kyle didn't attempt to help him, what if Kenny was still here...

"I'm sorry..."

Kyle sat there, his hands finally leaving his head, he had grabbed his hair and now it was a mess, he didn't care. He was breathing hard, his face stained with tears, tears of pure sadness. He raised his head, looking at the wall across the room, the wall still bare, thinking of the tragic scenes he had witnessed. He would /never/ be the same again.

~To be continued~