Friends are Funny Things

It was dark and the air was cool, although there was no wind. The silence was deep, but I could sense something coming. I'd been standing here awhile, with nowhere to go. The platform where I had planted my feet was an island. To step off of it would mean drowning in a sea of darkness.

I looked to my right and was surprised to see my best friend, more at peace than I had ever seen her in life. There was no wind, but her hair rustled loosely.

For what must have been the hundredth time since I had gotten to this place, I looked down at my chest, searching for the wound that should have been there. I saw nothing, but my friend put her hand on the place where it should have been. When she pulled it away, it was covered in blood. The wound reopened and so did all the memories that came with it. 

A group of teenagers stood in an alley. They joked and laughed, but had the look of a gang. They were. Laughing, telling vulgar jokes, smoking; it was a typical Friday night for them,  for me. I wasn't really a member, but my best friend was. We were the only two girls there most of the time, but it was alright.

Another group strolled up. Our rivals. Damien tried to pick a fight, but no one exchanged blows, only words. I tried to calm them down as best I could. 

"It's a Friday night. Let's go have some fun, guys."

Damien wouldn't have any of it. He'd had too much to drink, way too much, but we couldn't stop him. He swaggered up to a member of the rival gang and spit in his face. I didn't want to get involved with any of it. I wasn't even a member, just a person there on the wrong night.

A fight broke out. Fists at first, then someone had a knife, then someone else had a gun. Before I knew it, my best friend had pulled out a gun too. Someone tried to take it from her, but she struggled and fought. The safety was off and when the trigger was pulled, the gun did go off.

I stood there dumbly, just looking at my chest and the red stain that was gradually creeping across my shirt. Everyone ran off really fast, afraid of being arrested for murder. Within seconds the alley was empty, save for me and my best friend. 

When I collapsed onto the ground she hugged me really tight and kissed me on the cheek. She was hysterical and was unaware of my blood seeping across her clothes. She heard sirens and ran off, leaving me there to die.

A man bent over me, asking if I was alright. They brought a stretcher, but it didn't really matter. I was gone before they even loaded me into it.

The wound closed again and I heard my friend whisper, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. We're still together."

Standing on that platform, we talked in a way deeper than ever before. She admitted that she had committed suicide two days after my death. 

There was a loud whistle and a light coming down the tracks. The train. We smiled at each other and held hands as we waited for our next journey to begin.

The End

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