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Fitz took a drag of his cigarette before throwing it on the ground.
"Screw Degrassi, this place isn't half bad." he said out loud. As he lit another cigarette, Bruce and three girls wearing short dresses came up to me.
"Dude, we are so stoned! I mean, uh, wait, what's it called?" Bruce slurred. Two of the girls giggled, while the other passed out cold. Fitz bent down to help her.
"Guys, she's not conscious." Fitz pointed out. Bruce swatted the air.
"Ah, then the bitch can't handle this!" Bruce said, jumping. His girls laughed as they walked away.
Fitz sighed, and called an ambulance. A skinny, short man ran out of the ambulance, while two other put the blonde on the stretcher.
"Sir, what happened?" the man asked. Fitz shook his head.
"I don't know. She was on some sort of drugs, and she passed out right on the spot." Fitz explained, snapping his fingers.
"And...where did she get these said drugs?" the man asked skeptically.
"I don't know, mister." With that, the man rushed to his ambulance to drive her to the hospital.
"There Jesus, there's my good deed for the day. I didn't even know her name." he muttered, propping himself on the curb. He watched a group of girls, maybe in middle school, sing to a song on the radio.
"That's what, you get, for waking up in Vegas!" their snobby voices sang. Fitz laughed through his nose.
"Vegas," he said out loud, frowning.
Vegas, the theme of the dance.
The dance, the last of his happiness.
His happiness, what he prayed someone would bring.
But who? His drug addict father killed his mother and himself. He had no friends, just enemies.
Eli.
A nice guy really, there was only reason why he hated him.
Because he, Eli Goldsworthy, held the heart of Clare. His beloved Clare. After seeing her for the first time, his brain turned to mush. His history notebook no longer contained violent sketches. It contained anything and everything related to Clare.
"Hey, Edward, how's it hanging?"
"Clare, dear, don't look in my eyes. Look in my soul."
"Do you see what you do to me, love?"
After school, some time in April, Owen found this. He scoffed and walked away.
"Where are you going?" Fitz had asked him. Owen threw the notebook in his face.
"Sorry, I don't talk to pansies."
Fitz heard a faint giggling from behind the alley. When he looked, it was Eli and Clare making out. Clare was pinned to the brick wall, and Eli's hand was venturing under her skirt. Fitz looked away; he'd seen enough. His phone started to ring.
"What?" he hissed.
"Hello, Toronto Medical Emergency Center here. We are sorry to inform you that Nikki didn't make it."
"Nikki?" he asked, confused.
"Uh, blond hair, wearing a short dress..." Again, he'd heard enough. He slammed the phone in the street, breaking it in half. A tear slipped down his cheek.
"Why does life suck?" he croaked. He ran home, and picked up his switchblade. He sobbed lightly.
"Sayonara." he said, before stabbing himself.
Well that was awfully sad to write! Tell me if you like it, and if you don't, spank a giraffe, then tell me to go die in a hole.