I hadn't planned to continue this, but then I got another idea. Hope you like it.


Call it Despair

I guess you can call it despair when he pulls out that heater and raises it high in the air, because he knows what they will do for an answer, and he welcomes it. The air is thin and clear, and he breathes in it, one time, two times, three, and he knows the fourth will be the last. Because that is what he wants.

And when he wants something, he takes it.

This time, he wants their bullets. This time, he wants to bleed. This time, he wants death. One breath in. No breath out. He close his eyes, waiting.

And the last thing he sees is not the men who stands with hate in their eyes and fear in their hands, the ones who soon will take him down. It's not the boys he doesn't remember anymore, the ones who ran. The ones who tries to save him.

It's dark eyes in a pale face. Dark eyes and a broken body. Dark eyes.

Johnny.

And he knows, he can't live without him. He didn't knew it before, before the boy looked at him and said goodbye with those eyes, but he didn't understood then. Or didn't wanted to. Because Johnny couldn't die.

They were young and should live forever.

But youth is never forever.

And sometimes we are too good for this world anyway.

Call it despair. Because that is what he felt.


Review if you like, it makes me happy!