Left Without
Chris' body lay flat, motionless in the field, eyes lost in the sky, as it's golden tar of sunlight slowly drained its congealed drops from the clinging grey clouds; it wasn't long before the mosaic of light became smudged with a thick blanket of black, pierced by small, glinting shots in its broken pattern. Fistfuls of grass, hay, and leaves were swept up in a brush of air, clambering over each other before falling gracefully over his body, left limp from his scorned heart.
Six months ago he lost Josh, Sam, and Ashley.
He'd tried not to blame himself, yet in his turmoil it became a compulsion to shift the burden of their deaths upon himself, or to Mike, or anyone else that his thoughts fell onto to. Now, the contact had been scattered, leaving him alone from the others as, pain fell deep into their hearts too. However, even without him, Chris' passion for Josh had not wavered, showing no sign of extinguishing. That hurt the most, and dwelled in his head at all times in the day. Chris was now ridged, mustering up a deep rage inside of him, bursting through his gut, burning his lungs, crushing his heart, and without coherent thought, his mouth was forced agape by his will, and he screamed croakily through his chapped, flaky lips; no one could hear him, as he skittered away from his family's home, nestled in the centre of nowhere.
After time, his voice died down, and lugging his tall, scrappy form, he waded through knee-high grass towards his house; he needed to get back, before the blissful cold wind gripped him. The night had now grown seemingly darker, with a small slither of the moon granting a piece of its light to fall through the swarm of clouds, all which tried to snuff it out, and would easily go unnoticed as the shadows permeated around Chris' face; it smothered him, wrenching him from his thoughts and instilling a spear of terror through his spine. Then, it hit him: all sight of his home was lost, shrouded by shadows and a freezing fog that took hold of his feet, legs, and tips of his dangling arms.
In an instance he was running, his legs almost collapsing from the weight of his body, and his eyes shone loudly with a glowing fear which festered rapidly; he hadn't felt this lost for a while, not since he lost Josh to Hannah. Clusters of grass now clung to his trousers, wrapping their way round his legs and sweeping its bristles across his open palm and fingertips, as his head flung wildly around to check for a bullet of light that would beacon to his home. Everything now felt numb, as the hopelessness of it all scraped his head bare or structure and normalcy; he was on the brink of panic.
"Chris!" a voice screeched from across the field, though light was still void from everywhere. The voice had a husky tone to it, and sounded much like his father. The voice called again and again, allowing Chris to find his bearings, and scamper quickly toward it, without relent of thought; he became primal, acting on instinct. Before long, the night was at its peak, the moon now scorned and hidden painfully behind the barrier of clouds; even the stars were rejected by their tight regime, but Chris had found his way home, blissfully falling towards the dim light of his house.
The rest was a blur, as a mesh of hands, faces, and voices melded together for him.
In the morning, Chris awoke briskly without sticking in the bed for longer than a minute; something had enlightened him, tearing away the heavy pain that clung to his chest before. His mouth became taught with a curious smile as he made his way down the hall to his bathroom, forcing the door open. Staring into the mirror, he carefully examined his worn face, painted with a sudden happiness. His blond, short hair furrowed from his head, protruding forwards towards the cold reflection.
A voice came from down the stairs, with a confidence and cockiness that held possession to only one person he knew: Josh.
His heart now dripped with a warm, passion filled desire to dive down the stairs, grab Josh, and dive into his arms; he reserved himself in the bathroom. A flurry of guilt brimmed inside his gut and throat, causing a physical gagging as he peered, unwavering, into the mirror, and the feeling subsided yet his eyes remained fixed. His ears listened intently to the voices, echoing through his mind. Josh, Emily and Matt could all be heard in their glory from the bathroom, laughing and bantering with ease. Chris, now looking round, opened the door slowly, quietly, and then with the small pattering of his feet, guided himself down the staircase which fell a metre short from the bathroom door, and 5 more from his bedroom. Without subtlety, his right foot cracked an echo from the first step, leaving all the boom of voices empty; expectancy of Chris appeared obvious in the atmosphere. No sound was muttered as Chris clambered carefully down the stairs, a deep feeling of fear sprouting from the centre of his chest. At the left of the bottom of the staircase stood Josh, his eyes glistening with joy, mouth quivering at the corners until forming a slash of joy among the various over cuts and scars which mapped his face.
Chris stood there, mouth agape and tears trickling down his face. Josh understood, and in the tense silence, stole Chris from his shock to bring him into his embrace; both started to splutter and cry in each other's arms.
Finally, Josh moved his head back to stare at Chris, before saying "Hey, you should've called me" in a warm, joking tone.
"Didn't know they get re-eception in Hell" he answered, still spluttering from the overwhelming sadness. Emily and Matt watched them both in silence, holding each other's hands as they admired the scene. Wide smiles grew from the streams of their eyes, and they pressed their foreheads together, noses touching gently.
A/N: Yo guys, haven't wrote a Fanfic in a real long time thanks to school, so i'm slightly rusty on writing. If you liked it, then tell me cause i'd love some feedback. May continue this when I have the time, and if you want me to then tell me. For now, i'm going to reserve myself back to Tumblr.