~Nightmare before Christmas
You are walking down the sidewalk, the cold air rushing past your nose. You exhale and see your breath. It's been days since you have seen your best friend. He left urgently one day and stopped all communication with everyone.
You look at your phone once more, hoping/praying he has texted, pestered whatever. You see there is a new message, but from who? You click on it.
"From Dave:
yo, hey john. by the time you read this its probably gonna be too late, but i just wanted to say that im sorry. for what i am about to do. i just cant do it anymore the constant lying, hiding, and secrets. I just have to end it. i am so sorry. bye bro."
You have known about Dave and his depression problems for the longest time. You just never thought it would come down to this. Quickly you turn around and run as fast as you can passing house by house, street by street not giving a care in the world.
Your scarf, the scarf that your Dad gave you starts to fall off. You turn down his street and race as fast as you can. You feel the cold air surround your neck and you realize your scarf came off somewhere, but right now you have bigger fish to fry.
Your heart stops as you see his house, concern sweeps over you. "It's probably gonna be too late." Circles your brain. No it can't be too late! It just can't be! Your cheeks are on fire, you ran half a mile through the snow to hopefully save a friend.
You don't bother knocking; whatever you see or hear is repercussion later on. "Dave!" you shout, you walk all around shouting his name. you walk up stairs quietly, and look around. All the door are closed. Fuck, which is his? You wonder.
Nervous you open up all the doors, one of these has to be his. A droplet of blood clung to one of the door knobs. "Fuck." You open the door.
It looks like someone came at the bathroom with a bucket of red paint. Dave sat on the toilet with a knife in his hand. The knife dropped to the ground and his hand went limp. "Dave!" you shout. You look around and grab the hand towel and put pressure on the cut.
Because dad is way over protective, you know C.P.R. You check his pulse, its barely there. If you had taken any longer you wouldn't have made it. you see his face turn pale, paler than usual. You jump and look down, the bloody hand you aren't hold is grabbing you. "Bye John…" he whispers with a smile.
The hot tears run down your face in a gentle stream. You pull his head into your chest and cry. You cry because of all the things that you never told him. All the things you wish you had said. All the feelings you have.
Two days after Dave's death you are on the first flight to Texas for Dave's funeral.
Your name is John Egbert; you are in a casual black suit standing in a cemetery burying your best friend.
You turn and hear whispers, they seem to quiet down as you look at them or walk past the noise. You had spent the last few days in bed, not eating, not talking, just staring at the pictures you had of Dave and you being dorks.
God you are going to miss him, you are going to miss him more than anyone else! Well maybe not Bro. He was standing next to the hole staring into it. he had the Strider's signature stare. It almost broke you seeing how he wasn't showing any emotion, you doubt he even cried!
That's wrong you know he cried, you know he feels horrible. You know he regrets ever picking on Dave, every mean word. You know he feels like he could have done something but didn't.
Today you felt like dying, laying in bed wanting to wake up from this nightmare. You stay by Dave's grave after everyone else had left, even after Bro. You watch as they toss the dirt on top of the casket. You throw a red rose in the dirt, watching it get covered.
Life will never be the same.
After a few days Bro packed things up and moved back to Texas. You have decided to move away, far away once you turned 18. You now live in Long Beach California.