Hey so I haven't been on in so long! Im sorry to whoever follows me for my inactivity, but i've been trying to become a better writer!

plus my computer was taken away for four months. that too.

anyway! I'm hoping you guys like this, this is actually an essay i wrote for school with pepsicola in mind, i just switched the names back and voila!

So with no further procrastinating, heres a /rather long/ DaveJohn piece!

You hear the clock tower begin to chime in the distance, but you ignore it, watching your breath come out in steamed puffs in the chilled night air. Your thoughts are swimming with memories that give you and terrible feeling that you cant ignore. Swinging your legs under the cold metal bars, you weave your arms around an upper horizontal pole and rest your chin on it. Your light colored eyes prick with every thought of them, how their sad brown eyes would reassure you it would all be okay. Everything was not okay, and it was their entire fault. A sob lies choking your throat, threatening to break your poker face façade. The twelve chimes of the city hall clock and the night is silent yet again much to your dismay. Or is it comfort? You really can't tell the difference anymore. Pain feels like living, you think as your incisor breaks the skin of your lip, blood rushing out of the puncture. Hissing, your press your lip together, trying to stop the blood flow. Though, you suppose, life always has been dull even before they left you. Burying your face in your arms you shudder from both the chill in the air and the ice in your heart. You felt empty, broken, hurt. You could never help; they never wanted your help anyhow. Their bright eyes that used to make your day now haunt your dreams.

You feel like a soft tap hits your shoulder and you turn, looking around for the finger that touched you and caused you to look up. Only the wind and a few tour buses accompany you on this old cobblestone bridge in your old city of Prague, Czech Republic.

This old structure was where his ashes were thrown, so this is where you stay on the nights when you feel alone. Remembering everything he did to make sure his young life was not forgotten, for no one else seemed to remember him. But he would never be forgotten, not by you. You stand, wiping off your pants before leaning once again against the old grimy rail. Tilting your head to the side you begin to sing, a rhyme he wrote a short time before he died.

All this time I've been waiting

For a sign that I'll stay alive

So far I haven't found one

That's why I know when I'll die

Screams can't be heard from the bottom of the Thames

Dead men can't speak

Dead men can't be called names

I'll never find myself as one of their kind

And if I do it'll be in my own time.

A tear rolls down your face and your voice cracks, you never thought he was speaking of himself in the tunes he wrote, you never thought he thought of himself that way. Or even if you considered it, you never took him seriously. You hated yourself; you could have changed him if you tried hard enough. You could have made him love himself, instead of only loving others. What a fool you were back then when he was alive, looking back on it.

Two months ago, he was next to you, grinning and talking excitedly about a new game or comic or something of the sort. Most likely something to do with that shitty actor he was always obsessing over. The look of excitement on his face was priceless and you wouldn't trade the memory for the world…but you couldn't remember what he was talking about. Even with all the wires stuck in his arms and chest and pricked over the surface of his body, he still managed to seem at least the tiniest bit happy. You admired that about the small, frail, boy with those huge glasses that seemed to fall off his face constantly.

You couldn't remember a time where he wasn't constantly pushing them up the bridge of his nose. You always s told him how ridiculous they were, but he waved you off saying he liked them, which they made him look 'more hipster' as he so fervently insisted. Scoffing, you would laugh at him, making jabs at his other strange opinions. Sometimes people told you to be careful around him, and you shrugged it off. All he wanted was to be like any other kid, to be normal, and to have someone treat him like one. Looking back on it, he once told you "I'm glad that you don't see me like they do… or at least I hope you don't, I mean! I'm not some fragile little doll that's going to break if anyone does anything. I'm stronger than they think." He puffed out his cheeks after saying this, huffing childishly.

You smile at this; he was always so feisty when someone told him he couldn't do something. He'd brood over it and do everything in his power to prove them wrong, even if it was for his own good that he was told not to. One winter, the two of you adventured outside the hospital doors to look at the falling snow. You're not all too sure what to think of that day, sure, it was the happiest you've ever seen him, but what happened because of it made it questionable what you did. After staring up at the sky for hours in the evening hours of the day, he returned in with a huge grin on his face and snowflakes stuck in his raven black hair thanking you for wheeling him outside. You shrugged and said it was nothing, that you had fun as well.

Later that week though…you got a call. It was him, muttering that one of the nurses had seen the snow in his hair and yelled at him for going outside. You weren't allowed to come see him for a few months; the doctors thought it was a bad idea until winter was over. You remember not understanding, wondering why they'd be angry when you just wanted to see your friend smiling again. The snow calmed and comforted him, he used to say, and that it looked like the sky was covering the world with a blanket. You used to laugh, thinking it was ridiculous of him to say that, he was always so childlike. Well, you guess you couldn't blame him; he never really had a childhood, with all those monitors hooked up to him 24/7.

You tried to help as much as you could, getting him out of that stuffy room whenever you had the time, bringing your homework to his room everyday to sit with him. You had nothing to do anymore, not after he…he left you here. No reason to think of him like that, so pale, lying there, looking more broken and doll-like than he ever had. His funeral was the worst day of your life. Even though it was spring, never had you felt so cold. Without him by your side, you felt your heart freeze over. Standing there with your bouquet of died blue roses, setting them on his coffin you cringed, not wanting to say goodbye yet. Only a week ago you had seen him, and he seemed better than ever, smiling wide when you walked in. He said it didn't even hurt anymore, the doctors said he'd be feeling better soon. You sat with him, leaving only when he told you to. He was always worrying about you after you told him that you were falling behind because you were sleeping through some of your classes.

That night, he didn't wake up when the sunrise came. You were one of the first outside the family to get the call. After numbing at a loss of words, sobs ripped through your chest, choking you. It was the first time you had cried in six years, but it sure wasn't the last. The next week was full of the now familiar warm streaks on your face. You never felt so alone in your life, knowing he wouldn't be there to stay by your side. You had always known he wouldn't live long, but dying this early was a crime. You were only juniors, how could this be fair? It wasn't, that's what your mind told you. Life wasn't made to be fair; it's meant to be played, either to win, or to lose. Those who couldn't thrive at least survived those who died didn't suffer through any longer.

You eyes widened, staring at the wall in front of you in shock as you heard the doctor's voice. Sobbing, your clenched fist that was wrapped around your phone loosened, the phone clattering to the floor, your knees following soon after. Burying your face in your hands, you muffled your hysterical sobs, trying to pull yourself together. Words tumbled out of your mouth, something along the lines of 'what's going on' and 'he cant have.' Getting up and putting on a hoodie, your footsteps echoed down the hall. The world never seemed to quiet…No reason to go to school you today, you couldn't even say a word without breaking back into hysterics again. Your mind kept slipping back, no matter how hard you tried to keep it away. Kept slipping back to the idea that he was truly dead, you'd never see him again, well, not as anything but a cadaver anyway. Walking to the kitchen, you poured yourself a glass of coffee and hopped up on the counter, crossing your legs with the huge hoodie pooling around you. Wrapping your hands around the mug you took a sip, your breath shaking as you breathed in. Closing your eyes you reveled the bitter taste in your mouth, chuckling at how strange you must look, perched up like this with a pair of eyes and nose red from your tears. You pulled up your sleeve, wiping off your face with the soft fabric. Dirk would have a field day if he saw you cry, him being the heartless moron that he is.

Sighing, you hop back down, texting someone to get your work for the day, probably that girl in your math class, she seemed the most likely to understand and be happy to collect your things. Now that you think of it, she's your only friend besides…him. Why must it always circle right back around to him? You growl a little under your breath, shaking the thought from your head. You need to stop thinking of him. He's gone now. Your fingers pause and you drop your phone into your pocket with the unsent message in tow.

You pick up your things, heading out the door without bothering to change. Might as well go to school after all, no need to bother her. Walking to your car, you throw your stuff in the back seat before climbing in and starting up the engine. Setting it in drive you pull out, looking over your shoulder as to not run into anything. Hissing at the cold of the unused steering wheel under your fingertips, you drove cautiously, not caring that you might be late. You groaned, a tourist was taking a picture of your car. There were a lot of tourist this time of year, but did they really need a picture of a car? Tourists are crazed and ridiculous, you thought to yourself. Continuing your drive, you avoid several ice patches that had formed on the centuries old cobblestone that adorned your capitol city. You pulled into the small old building, getting out of the car and throwing your black backpack over your shoulder. You buried your face into your hoodie, trying to avoid the biting cold that somehow was still existent in the early spring. This weather will be the death of you, you thought at the time. Turned out it was, but that's a different story for a later time, precisely speaking, after your death. You open the big heavy wooden doors with intricate carvings and walk in. Your footsteps seem louder than ever in those big cold halls, so you quickened your pace, hurrying to class.

You almost trip on your way there and you curse under your breath, but not quietly enough. As you continue to get to class you look up to see a teacher with an eyebrow raised in your direction. You offer an awkward smile and wave, catching your balance and taking a step forward and away from them while walking stiffly. Might as well ignore and abscond. You soon find your class and duck inside avoiding the teacher just barely. You cringe as he notices your seat is now occupied, and you are forced to come up with some odd excuse. He doesn't question you when you say you hit a goose, even though its not the time of year they would be in your town. You don't even know if they're ever in your town. You get a strange look from your friend with the black scraggly hair, and class resumes. You get papers thrown at your head continuously throughout the next ten minutes, until you finally open one. 'Goose? Really? Nice one fuckass.' It reads. You roll your eyes at him, not in the mood to respond. He grumbles something and shifts in his seat, looking back to the professor. He didn't understand why you even had to go to this, it seemed stupid to take college classes in high school. His opinion really didn't make a difference though, the teacher still prattled on and you still had to attend class. No different from any other day.

But it was, there was one less person for you to see today, and it was really the only person you cared about seeing. Your brother, Dirk, was sure not going to help you through this, as you said, the heartless idiot was sure to make fun of you if you cried in front of him. Not that you didn't like your brother at all, you did sometimes, or at least you used to. Or you think you used to…either way now he's nothing more than a bother. You hear the bell ring and head to your next class, hearing the boy with the messy raven hair scramble up to you. He accidentally ran into that girl you always talk to and she raised a fist, glaring at him. He mocks fear and continues and you see her huff and pick up her bag, and after pulling her long black hair into a scraggly bun and pushing up her overly large glasses. She puts on her canvas bag and heads out of the classroom, waving a hand in goodbye, though really it looked like less of an effort than should be required of a goodbye. The loud black haired boy walks with you to your next class, and despite your complaining, you're glad to have the company.

Sitting in your assigned seat you let your mind wander back to him before you snap it back in place, no, you are not going to break the façade you have going. You're doing too well to throw it all away and think about him again, you can mourn at home. You half listen to the teacher, half scribble down poems that come to mind. You draw illustrations to go along with the words, drawing something of a picture book. The teacher walks next to you, looks down at your sketches of crows and etched words, and walks away. You shrug, knowing that he couldn't care less as long as you at least show up. This class wasn't all that difficult to get good marks in; it was obvious he just liked the feeling of people listening to him. You scoff silently to yourself with his purple puff of hair and scarf that he wore even on the hottest days of school.

You resume your random drawings and phrases until the class is over and you can go home. Speaking of which, the bell rings and you leave in a rush, hurrying to avoid your friend. You head out to your car and drive home, happy to be out of that stuffy building. You get home and sit on your bed, no homework due and unable to do anything else. You don't feel like crying, but then again, you don't feel like doing much of anything.

You sit there, waiting to hear the familiar sound of Dirk arriving home, the daily random phrase he thought fit the silence best. You roll your eyes thinking about how ridiculous he is, and suppose you do care about him a little, after all you can't imagine life without him. There used to be two people you'd say that about though, and that number is steadily dropping. You sigh, burying your face in your pillow. You need to stop that. Stop thinking about him when you know you're just going to break down into tears again. You try to get yourself out of bed to do something productive, but you cant figure out how to start. What do you do first, move your arm, or just get out of bed in one motion? You really didn't want to bother, so you just laid there, staring off at something. You weren't sure what exactly you were looking at, but that was okay. It gave you something to do at least.

You hear Dirk come in, yelling something or other about a sport, you're not really sure. Whatever, you think, as long as he's content without a response. He calls for you, saying he brought dinner. You shrug, deciding not to respond. He comes in a moment later, banging loudly on the door as to be obnoxious. Well, more obnoxious than usual. He stops talking when he sees you, pausing mid-sentence. He doesn't ask what's wrong, just turns around, leaving you alone. You wiped away the tears on your face, and surprised he didn't say anything. Maybe you underestimated him after all.

You turn around and go to sleep; pretty sure he wasn't going to be back in to bother you. Waking up the next morning you decide not to go to school, what little friends you have will be pestering you about why you were late. You'd rather avoid that conversation, at least for a while longer. Apparently your brother heard about his death, and left a not on the counter, pretty much telling you that he had to go to work and he hoped you felt better. Yeah right, you thought, he's only doing this because he thinks he should. Not because he wants to.

You put down the note again, rummaging through the fridge. You come across a bottle of apple juice, and it seems good enough, so you drink it. Nope, not still within date. You splutter into the sink, spitting out what was in your mouth. You reexamine the bottle, seeing little bits floating around. You throw away the bottle and give up, deciding to go play around on the Internet or something. You walk back to your room, sitting on the bed and pulling out your laptop. You browse popular websites, sending some messages to friends to get your stuff. You ignore the messages asking why, not having the will to respond. You don't feel like explaining yourself to them. You sigh, starting up a movie and eating a box of crackers you found in your room. You end up not even paying attention to the plot and just shoving crackers into your mouth, looking at the screen but not paying attention.

Soon enough, your counting how many pieces of bread you can fit in your mouth, doing anything and everything to avoid thinking of him. You move all over the house, trying to keep yourself occupied. It takes four hours, and you give in. You start scrolling through old text conversations with him. You smile at some parts, even though tears run down your face. You don't know whether they're tears of joy or sadness, but you feel better all the same.

You get an email alert and you see it's for the funeral. You sigh, not knowing whether you should go or not. You wanted to, but you also didn't. Seeing him cold and dead and in a box did not sound appealing to you in the least. As much as you wanted to say your goodbyes, you felt like there'll be time for that later.

Sighing, you walk off the bridge starting your walk home. You've said your goodbyes, and now you need to move on. He'll live with you in memory, just like he always did. He's always by your side, then and forevermore, stark blue eyes and cold hands gripping onto your heart. You'll never forget the name John Egbert.

Please review! I'm trying to get better at writing and any criticism or applause you have would be amazing to hear! ! !

Thank you so much for bearing with me!

i love you all,

-StripedHipster