Lonely & AfraidMature

Remember 'Parted'? If yas haven't read it, it's one of mine and this story could quite possible carry on from it...but then again, if yas haven't read 'Parted' then yas don't need to in order to read this one. A boy seeks revenge for the death of his girl.

He was hiding behind a statue; being hunted.  She wanted to kill him. He wanted to kill her. Everything was going swimmingly.

He was panting heavily, the knife in his hand slipped about as he tried to get a proper hold on it. His t-shirt stuck to his back from the sweat that was trickling down his spine which made him shiver. The bronze statue he was slumped up against was very cold next to his skin so that sent a chill down after the falling droplets of salty water. It was one of those motivational statues, you know, one of a man and a woman, back to back and facing the world, whatever it threw at them. Typical. The one person he would gladly stand back to back with and face whatever the world threw at them was busy. She was dead; killed by the woman on the other side of the statue actually. Isn’t it funny how that happens?

The bitch was tormenting him, teasing him into revealing himself; she was playing on his anger and recklessness. He had always had the habit of ‘being ruled by his emotions, sometimes too much’ as Kalli used to say. He could almost hear the voice of his recently deceased best friend echo in his head. They had been in this together right up until the very end, even if times looked bleak. She had been there. Now she was gone. He never got the chance to say goodbye or tell her just how much he loved her, from the moment they first met, five years ago in fact, though he hadn’t realised it at the time.

They had been about fourteen years old. He was at his desk in class re-reading the essay he had written (Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream: how the language used makes it humorous) before the lesson started, when he heard someone clearing their throat very close by.

He had looked up to see the most charming face in existence and he was ashamed even now to remember that he had embarrassed himself by stumbling over saying something as simple as ‘hello’. Amusement sparkled in her gorgeously green eyes. He felt his face warm and wished the ground would open beneath his feet to swallow him up just to avoid further humiliation. He turned back to his essay to try and regain some dignity. Her voice sounded, and to him it was the most melodic thing he had ever heard and ever would hear. She had asked,

“Does anyone sit here?” he looked up at her again and shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. He watched her as she smiled, put her books down on the desk and slipped into the seat beside him. She noticed him still gazing at her and put out her hand, “I’m Kalli,” she said, “Spelt with a K not a C and an I not Y.” He took her proffered hand and replied in a voice that was much more confident than how he felt,

                “The pleasure is all mine,” he said simply. She had just smiled in return.

They had been friends ever since, they had grown up together, sharing anything and everything. She had been there to shelter him when his parents didn’t bother to return home some nights – out drinking – and left him to starve. He had been there when her sister died, to comfort and look after her, bringing her out of depression and probably saving her life.

‘We didn’t have a very fortunate run, did we.’ he reflected, it was not a question. Feeling the corner of his eyes prickle irritably, he wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his jacket before they could fall. He didn’t cry for her. He cried for himself and what he could have had if he had said three little words, but now it was too late. There was nothing left of her now but a shadow of a memory. That and the cold, dead body she left behind.

The End

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