Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this, although I really
wish I did.
Author's Notes: Sorry about the title, I suck at coming up with them.
The Letter
Hours after he had arrived back home, Peter kept replaying the scene in his head to see if there was something he'd missed.
But, no matter what he saw, or how he saw it, the images were all the same and showed one thing. It was his fault.
Daylight had long since been somewhere else and darkness fed off the moonlight. Peter knew he should have moved to turn a light on, but something inside him wouldn't move from the couch. So, instead, Peter sat on the couch in darkness, except for the pale moonlight that crept through the exposed window.
The last moments of that agonising hour played continuously in Peter's mind. All he saw was the gun going off and Lindsay being shot, and then her lying in his arms taking her last breath and looking at him for the very last time with his name on her lips. She was dead, and it was his fault. He hadn't been there for her like he was supposed to have been. Instead he was talking to Ray about sports.
A single tear found its way down Peter's cheek as he realised another friend had died because of him not being there when he was needed.
Connor had died because no one knew he was dying until it was too late when Peter found out about the deadly virus Connor had contracted. Peter couldn't stop Connor from taking his own life, but he could have stopped Lindsay's from ending. But he hadn't. Instead he had not been there when she had needed him; when she faced the gunman alone.
A million 'if onlys' played through his head, all of them relating to Lindsay and Connor's sudden departures from this world. He hadn't wanted them to leave him like they had, without warning, and he had wanted to say good bye so early, like he had not over some cold slab of stone in the middle of a field filled with desolate and empty of bodies.
Things weren't supposed to be this way. The sentence chanted through his mind in Lindsay's voice. It scared him to know that he would never see or hear her again.
There were so many things he wanted to tell Lindsay, but couldn't while she was still alive. Instead, he had kept them to himself, never being able to share the most important thing in the world to him with her, the most important person in the world to him. There was no way to talk to her now, but he had to tell Lindsay someway.
Finally standing, Peter walked to the desk and turned the lamp on. He sat down and picked up a pen and began to write what he had never managed to tell Lindsay before.
The Letter
Hours after he had arrived back home, Peter kept replaying the scene in his head to see if there was something he'd missed.
But, no matter what he saw, or how he saw it, the images were all the same and showed one thing. It was his fault.
Daylight had long since been somewhere else and darkness fed off the moonlight. Peter knew he should have moved to turn a light on, but something inside him wouldn't move from the couch. So, instead, Peter sat on the couch in darkness, except for the pale moonlight that crept through the exposed window.
The last moments of that agonising hour played continuously in Peter's mind. All he saw was the gun going off and Lindsay being shot, and then her lying in his arms taking her last breath and looking at him for the very last time with his name on her lips. She was dead, and it was his fault. He hadn't been there for her like he was supposed to have been. Instead he was talking to Ray about sports.
A single tear found its way down Peter's cheek as he realised another friend had died because of him not being there when he was needed.
Connor had died because no one knew he was dying until it was too late when Peter found out about the deadly virus Connor had contracted. Peter couldn't stop Connor from taking his own life, but he could have stopped Lindsay's from ending. But he hadn't. Instead he had not been there when she had needed him; when she faced the gunman alone.
A million 'if onlys' played through his head, all of them relating to Lindsay and Connor's sudden departures from this world. He hadn't wanted them to leave him like they had, without warning, and he had wanted to say good bye so early, like he had not over some cold slab of stone in the middle of a field filled with desolate and empty of bodies.
Things weren't supposed to be this way. The sentence chanted through his mind in Lindsay's voice. It scared him to know that he would never see or hear her again.
There were so many things he wanted to tell Lindsay, but couldn't while she was still alive. Instead, he had kept them to himself, never being able to share the most important thing in the world to him with her, the most important person in the world to him. There was no way to talk to her now, but he had to tell Lindsay someway.
Finally standing, Peter walked to the desk and turned the lamp on. He sat down and picked up a pen and began to write what he had never managed to tell Lindsay before.
