This is just a short story I had to write for my A Level English Language coursework. The idea was going around in my mind for a while, and we had to write a short story so I decided to use it.
Covers suicide and guilt,
"Look, I said go away! I don't like fags!" Xavier growled, walking home from school along in the fading light of a winter's afternoon, alongside a busy flyover. Elliott, a boy from the same school, was walking beside him trying to keep up with the taller boy's much larger steps.
"Asshole!" With that, the first punch was thrown. Elliott's fist collided with the side of Xavier's face making him wobble, but not move from his spot. Xavier fought back, his fist hitting Elliott's stomach hard, taking the wind out of him and sending him toppling backwards into the road.
"H-Help!" Before Xavier could reach out and grab Elliott's outstretched arm a car had hit him, tearing the arm away from Xavier's reach and tearing the blonde's short lived life away.
"N-No!" He gripped his hair and fell onto his knees.
The driver of the car hadn't even stopped, just hit him and kept driving... Left his lifeless corpse laying in the road. At least someone had the heart to stop, calling an ambulance and pulling the body to the side of the road, laying it beside Xavier. The body of the blonde was disfigured, blood everywhere, body contorted into strange shapes that it should never be able to make. The distraught teen just knelt there, staring down into the open, lifeless voids that were the blonde's once deep blue eyes. Now however, the blue had become a stormy sea full of unspoken torment.
Xavier's only instinct at the time was to run; get up and head straight home as fast as he could. He stood up, his legs turning to jelly as he began to run, not looking back even when someone called after him.
When he reached home he threw his bag off and made his way straight to the bathroom. He turned on his shower, not bothering to put any hot water towards it.
He sat under the icy cold water that hit him like a thousand tiny daggers, cutting into him with the same question: "Why?"
He couldn't tell how much time had passed but he got out of the shower and walked lifelessly to his room, discarding his wet school uniform and crawling into his bed. The sheets were cold and untouched but he showed no concern as he tried to hide in his bedding.
The guilt had already began tearing him apart. As he fell into a restless slumber the only image invading his mind was Elliott's horrified face as he, and his life, tumbled relentlessly towards an imminent death.
Subconsciously this spawned dreams of the afterlife or lack thereof. He imagined himself plummeting in an unknown direction in a vast somber darkness for the rest of eternity.