I remember watching as he faded to black nothingness.
I remember watching from another's eyes as he died.
I remember being helpless.
It hurt me more than anything else could ever have.
Today is November 10, 2009. Ten years after Axel died.
I am 25 years old today.
Thank you graciously for wishing me a happy birthday, I appreciate it, I really do.
I got a new Kyocera from Virgin Mobile not too long ago.
Apparently the number I got had been used before by some prostitute or something, so I get all these weird calls and voicemails about guys that "want to do me" and "will give me 50 bucks an hour for my service."
I'm going to ask for a new number tomorrow. On 11/11. Damn it, I better get a good number. Tomorrow's a lucky day.
It's almost midnight, and not a single person has called me to wish me a happy birthday.
Not a single one.
Not Hayner, or Olette, or Pence, or anyone.
11/10/09 must not be a special day to them.
If anything, they would at least notice that it counted down and share this fascinating news with me.
Apparently not.
It's 11:58 PM. I've been 25 for almost a whole day now, and nobody is aware of it but me.
I look at the Kyocera on the dresser longingly, wishing for someone, anyone to call.
Just as I think that, I see the display screen light up, and I hear the soft melody of Marching Bands of Manhattan spill through the room.
I pick it up eagerly. The number is unavailable, but I press the answer button anyway.
"Hello?"
Nothing for a few moments, and then, just as the clock strikes twelve...
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Roxas, happy birthday to you."
The song is finished before the clock finishes chiming.
The phone drops out of my hand and hits the floor, chipping the edge.
That voice had been Axel's.
It had to have been. There was no one else with the same smoky, husky kind of voice that he had. It couldn't have been anyone but Axel.
But...Axel was dead...
I snatched up the phone quickly and pressed it back to my ear.
Faintly, ever so faintly, I heard, as if from a great distance, "...Happy birthday Roxas..."
The phone clicked, I heard only the whispers of a dying dialtone echoing in my ears, and nothing more.
A/N: I've gotten a "ghost call" before, ...I'm not sure you could call it a "ghost call," because when I picked up, there was no one on the other line. So this is somewhat based off a true story.