Au Revoir
I missed your funeral. I'm sorry about that.
I would apologize in person, but I can't now; can I?
We both died and I had to go back while you stayed at the gates.
I saw you.
I'm not sure if you could see me too. But I watched as Peter took down your name. Your face was smudged with red gore.
I couldn't even tell if it was yours or mine though.
You were arguing with him. Probably trying to bargain, it's not that uncommon to see.
But it's not worth your time he never changes his mind.
So I'm back to earth two weeks after the accident and you're not.
I sulk in my room for awhile, but I have to leave sometime.
Even if I don't want to.
Even if I'm scared to.
So I walk around town and you'll never guess where I end up.
Your house.
I had to go here anyways, because even though I can't tell you I'm sorry, doesn't mean I can't say it to your parents.
I had to explain to your mom why I was back and you weren't.
I think she thought, since you had died with me, the rules of resurrection would apply to both of us.
It's only fair; right?
But, when she opened the door to my poor as self, she just smiled.
It was such a genuine grin, and it made me sick thinking that I had to tell her that her little boy wasn't home.
And he never would be.
She was so damn happy and I nearly lied. I almost told her you were on your way.
She would have believed me too.
She asked where you were and I told her you were in a better place.
I felt stupid, like a parent explaining why your dog is dead.
She stared at me.
She didn't understand.
How could she?
We were only seventeen.
You shouldn't have died.
And I shouldn't have come back.
And your mom did something unexpected.
She hit me.
Broke my nose too.
It's only fair.
WHY?
I feel like shit.
It's only fair that the poor kid.
With the bad parents.
Who don't care.
Should die.
But, no.
It was you.
With the bright future.
The loving parents.
That died.
WHY?
So I'm sitting here.
There's a chair in my room now.
A broken electrical cord.
Tied the beams in my sealing where the dry walls rotted away.
To poor even for a rope.
I'm on the chair.
And all I can think is.
Of your face and . . .
WHY?
I'll see you soon.
So here I hang and two weeks pass and I'm here again.
I tried.
Counts for something right?
I'm alive and I hate it.
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But, life's not fair. Never has been.