((italics are used in flashbacking, and all text in italics are used in a sense of a flashback, while all plain text are used for the present.))
Last Night
The sun licked my face as it came in through the window. The warmth was nice, but the brightness made my head throb. My face was still wet with tears, and so was my pillow, and as I became more aware, my chest began to feel a most painful combination of both heavy and empty. Memories came into my head slowly, but unmistakably, making it feel as though my chest had been clawed open by a vicious bear. I could feel new tears come down from my eyes and down my cheeks, and part of me hoped helplessly that it was all just a dream, and that last night didn't happen. But it was useless, and as my body began to awaken, the pain from all of the inches of my skin reassured me that last night did, in fact, take place. I touched my aching fingertips to my cheeks, wet with tears, and rested it there. My arm ached with burns that made me question why I was still alive.
The memories became violent upon that action, and came to play in my head as if my mind was a movie theatre. Last night–
I rolled over to my side, facing the window, and clutched my chest with a grimace of agony. I was so young, why was I allowed to feel this hurt over mistreatment? He was only the same age, and yet he could fathom such horrid actions to someone who tried to show him companionship when he could not find it otherwise. Yesterday, reaching all the way unto last night, he had been of horrible nature. Last night, there was no escaping the pained recollection from it.
Last night, I could remember it all, and it played for me, ever so clearly in my head...
The snow, it was so comfortable. The ground, it was so firm. They were both so cold against my burning skin, against the pain that every mark, bruise, and scratch I had been given. The sky had darkened, and the moon and the stars shone very dimly. I had been resting in the snow for what felt like days, though it had actually been only six or seven hours. My face, burnt from the fire, throbbed underneath my subtle, quiet crying. My expression had grown stoic during my resting in the snow, just as it was when I first fell down into the snow.
It was hard to tell which hurt worse, the fact that Damien had hurt me to be socially accepted, or the physical pain that came from it. Or, maybe, what hurt the worst of all was that I had tried to be nice to Damien in the time that he allowed, and that that wasn't enough to save myself from getting hurt.
"Goodbye."
The voice came from very close to me. It was a voice very shrill and somewhat sad. I tried my best to put on a tone void all sorrow and pain as I answered, "Hello, Damien."
"You're not supposed to say hello to someone who just said goodbye," he sighed, his footsteps crunching in the snow as he stepped closer to me. He stood over to me, with dark eyes that seemed to be even more melancholy than me.
I looked up at him, not bothering with hiding my tears as I said, "Well, I was hoping you'd tell me why were saying goodbye."
He sat down in the snow beside me and didn't bother to say a word. Instead, he tried his best not to rest his gaze on my injured self. Quietly, he said, "I'm leaving town and going with my Father."
After a few minutes of a most aching and punishing silence, I said to him, "Please don't say goodbye. You're my friend, I don't want to say goodbye."
I could see him bite his lip and shut his eyes tight. When he opened them, he spoke to me in a small voice, saying, "Well, how about we say 'goodnight'? Perhaps then, you could pretend the morning won't come."
"I don't have an option, do I?" I whispered, closing my eyes on a new set of tears.
"No."
"I enjoyed having you as a friend."
He stood from his place on the snow, keeping his head down and his eyes away from me. In a low, empty tone, he said, "Goodnight."
The sound of crunching snow followed his voice. The volume decreased and I knew that he was gone, but there was nothing I could do about it. Now, if I were to ever see Damien, the friend I once had, again, it'd be when we're older and when we've forgotten each other, with only the scars and marks on my skin to remind us of an unfortunate event that we'd never think about again. It'd be when this moment, right now, would be just like one of those times you bump into someone and don't say sorry.
I picked myself off of the ground, feeling the cold air bitterly blow against the wetness of my back. As I carried myself, a greater pain flowered throughout my body. This pain could only be described as the pain you'd feel if your body had been made out of glass and had just been shattered by a rock and a scream at the same time. But, I tried my best to ignore it, and make my way back home.
I pulled away from my memories and wiped the wetness from my face. I wished that I could've said goodnight to him, as well, and that he, too, could pretend that the morning wouldn't come. With a sob, I moved my hand away from my face, and grabbed my shirt tightly, chocking out a single, but ultimately sad, word.
"Goodnight."
((968 words, 2 pages. Thank you for reading.))