I know, I'm in the middle of a story, but, I've been staring at my computer, and screaming at it to give me idea's.. So, a change of scenery is necessary. Have a nice day loves!
This may be a cheesy way to start my story. But, hello, I'm Dave. I'm sixteen years old, I have red eyes, and like apple juice. Oh, did I forget to mention I'm dead? Because I am. If you'd like Ill share my story with you. And if not, to bad, I'm doing it anyway.
At the moment you may be thinking 'Oh who killed this poor boy with such a bright future' Well. I did. I killed myself.
Now you're most likely thinking ' why the hell would you do that?!' Well, I have a few reasons for taking my life. One being I was done. I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't keep up with the act any longer. I was being to snowball. I was beginning to come to an end. My life was unraveling right before my very eyes, and I had no way to fix it. No way to get back to my formerly ironic self.
I'm stuck in the middle, reliving it everyday. My horrible, sad self has to relive my sad, horrible death. Every. Single. Day. Saying it hurts is an understatement. It kills me. Literally.
The worst part was probably every body else's reactions.
I can see them, it's like I'm standing in the corner of the room, watching this shit all go down.
Watching John bang on the door, in hysterics.
Watching him kick the door down, as I was barely alive on the floor. The drugs finally kicking into my system. Blood running down my arm.
Feeling him, his warmth as he held me in his arms, sobbing for me to hold on. That help was coming.
But it was too late.
I was almost there.
About to walk into the light.
When I felt him press his lips to my forehead. His salty tears sliding down to his his face, landing on mine.
With my final shaky breath I forced the words 'I'm sorry'. Then my breathing stops.
I stop. I'm dead.
But instead of a bright light, with a red hue in it enveloping me, like it did that day. I keep watching. I watch John cry at the sight of my corpse.
'N-No! Don't be sorry Dave! You'll be fine.' He was barley whispering to me. His voice was wavering.
To bad I couldn't respond. I just wanted to respond to him. I wanted to tell him how I really felt about him. How windy boy was always on my mind, no, always IS on my mind. But I cant now.
I miss him. I miss him so much. Much more than I thought imaginable. I miss him so so so so so much.
And I can't do anything to get myself back to him.
You know what they say. You can't bring back the dead.
You can only join them.
