- 100
- Posts
- 10
- Years
- Age 29
- Leeds, England
- Seen Jul 28, 2014
*NOTE: The title of the thread is incorrect and I am too much of a n00b to know how to change it. I do apologise, I often mix up the title myself. It doesn't destroy the story though.
I wrote this just under a year ago now, after finding out that I a friend of mine was to die in less than 6 years. Unknowning of how to react, I went out and sat in a thunderstorm, and this is how this short story was born. It usually seems to receive praise, so I'll see how you guys like it. Hell, you may all think it's terrible, or you may all love it. Who knows, eh? Comments, both praise and criticisms, are always welcome ^.^
I don't think it was the heavy downpour of rain that bothered me that day. Now I look back on it, I suppose it suited the mood well. Funerals aren't happy events. The sea of black that washes up among the graveyard isn't one of glee and rejoices. The sea dampened the ground, and the trees, and the entire world. It was hard to imagine the sun ever fully shining again now that he was gone from the world. My best friend had been the center of all of the joy in my life, despite his mental illnesses and problems. No matter what happened, he'd always held his head high and strived onwards, dragging me behind with him, not letting me go. But I suppose it's the brave who die in battle, opposed to the cowards that run away and hide.
The weirdest part of it all was when he'd come out of the doctor's office and back into the waiting room, where I had been sat reading the trashy entertainment magazines that waiting rooms provided. The look on his face had been sullen, and his walk an awkward one, full of jitters and shaking. It was at that moment I knew that all was unwell, or that he had planned to trick me and fool me like he had a talent for doing. At the time I thought that everything had to have been fine. It always turned out fine. No matter how much his mind threw him back, my best friend always won the fight and prevailed, even if he did come out of it bearing some battle scars. He always came out smiling.
He didn't sit down. Instead he just stared intently into my eyes and sighed. "Let's get something to eat. I think I need to get something down my throat before I have the strength to explain anything." His voice was slow and deprived of its usual joyous tone that seemed to make the words usually dance out of his mouth. There was no dancing now, however, only marching. Heavy, straining, glum marching.
It was intensely bright that June afternoon, hence why we sat as far away from the windows as possible in Frankie and Benny's, my best friend's favourite restaurant. We ordered his favourite food, though no smile broke through his cold, sealed lips. Like he had done everything else since exiting the Doctor's office, he ate at an insanely slow speed. Naturally, I waited. I have to admit, at the time I was growing a little impatient, though I suppose that was down to how anxious I was. It had gotten past the point where it could have all been a joke. He wasn't that good of an actor and never dragged the act out this long. All I knew is that the results from the scans couldn't have been positive whatsoever. After eating half of his lasagne, he set aside his knife and fork and slowly drew his head up so that he could face me.
The pain seemed to have faded from his eyes and only remained on his face. They remained emotionless, for no tear or joy or upset lurked in them. His lips quivered, however, and his cheeks were tense. And there he sat for a few minutes, sitting back as casually as his overwrought body would let him. Eventually his mouth opened, and then closed again. Another minute of silence had followed. And then his mouth had opened, and closed again, once more. Calmly, he exhaled through his nose and said in a flat tone: "Okay. So… erm… I don't know how to put this. It's kinda… erm… well… difficult to an…announce. But, I su…suppose I ne…need you to remain calm. Okay." He exhaled through both his mouth and nose. "I'm going to d…d…die."
That was the moment when everything around me died. The noise and clatter of the restaurant around me died. The smell of freshly made Italian food died. Everything in sight other than my best friend died. It was just us two sat in a black void together, forever falling. Everything was motionless. My breathing was so steady that for a few seconds I thought it had ceased. Tears overflowed my eye sockets, not hesitating in breaking the dams and flooding my cheeks below. My body didn't have the strength or willpower to move, and so I remained completely silent and still.
What had surprised me the most is that my best friend had smiled at that point. For the first time in the last hour, the corner of his lips had curled upwards, and a soft chuckling sound walked from them. "Thank god I got that off of my chest," he had said happily before he started to devour his lasagne.
I look back on that moment now, as I stand surrounded by the black sea, realising that the two of us dealt with death in completely different ways. I had never experienced the death of a close one. I didn't have many 'close ones'. I suppose it's different when you're the one dying. It's especially different when your entire life was a constant battle against demons and monsters, all which had left their fair share of marks upon your already torn body. In time to come, my best friend described it as a relief to be finally loosing a battle. Apparently there was always a chance that he could win in the end, but I don't think his heart was quite willing to. "Whilst I'm sad to be leaving you here in this hell, I'm pretty happy I'll be escaping. It's arguable that I've lost a battle, yet I'd honestly say that upon losing I'll be winning the greatest prize of all time," he had said one afternoon as the two of us sat atop a hill, watching the sun set.
I had spent as many days as possible with him since he had announced that he was to die. He explained that it could be any time within the next year, but never explained what it was that was going to finish him. He told nobody. It was a secret he wanted to take with him to the grave, and, as much as I hated it, all I could do was respect his decision. His decision to live on life normally was also one that struck me as odd. He wanted to go back college in September and continue study philosophy and psychology. He wanted to spend the rest of his holidays just hanging out, visiting places we had visited as a child. Every night after we'd visited them I had cried, realising that it would be the last time we ever set foot upon the ground at that location together.
Unfortunately, as the days crawled on, he had appeared less in college. His girlfriend often came to me asking what was wrong, though every time I had told her the same thing. "I think he's just down with flu and too dignified to admit it," I had always managed to say through my trembling lips and upset tone. He had elected to tell nobody but me and his family, for he didn't want to raise concern and wanted to avoid the attention. An admirable move, admittedly. I'd never been one to pass off the opportunity for people to sympathise me a little. I guess death's a little different.
She was currently stood next to me, his girlfriend, holding my hand for comfort. It made me feel all the more uncomfortable, yet I had to carry on his legacy, one that composed of making everybody happy, no matter what. Thunder rumbled overhead like the belly of a hungry giant, and lightning crackled across the clear skies. Nobody even flinched. They just stared motionlessly at the priest in the middle of the circle they had formed around the hole and the coffin.
"And now," said the priest as he finished his speeches in a cheerless tone, "I would like to call upon the best friend of our young victim, for he has pre-prepared a speech for us." His words bit me harder than the cold November rain that tore at me from above. Slipping my hand free from his girlfriend, I wadded smoothly my way through the black sea, soon finding myself on the island it surrounded. The thunderclouds continued to rumble.
I cast my mind back to about a fortnight ago, when my best friend had suggested we all went out for a meal. Of course, 'we' consisted of a small group of friends and his girlfriend. That had been two nights before he had passed away. I honestly think that he had known that he was going to die within the next few days. He hadn't been at college for he hadn't had enough strength to get out of bed. That night, whilst out, I had to support him every time we walked somewhere. It's strange how everybody else just thought that he was extremely ill, and that it never occurred to them what was to come a few days later, that they would be part of the black sea in the graveyard. Yet my best friend had remained jolly and content that evening, and other than the one second that he turned to me and gave me a grave smile. The night was full of laughter, and banter, just the way he liked it.
Afterwards, I had walked him home. Given that it was November, the night had been frigid and brisk, yet none of it seemed to matter. I knew what was coming, though I daren't speak of it. This could be the last time that I ever saw my best friend, the one person who had always stood by me, and I didn't want it to be gloomy. All it was was a silent walk. He had his arm around my shoulder as I held him up whilst he hobbled down the street with his house in view. I think he was satisfied with a silent walk. There was nothing left to say. The time was up. The clock had nearly stopped ticking. What would your last words have been to your best friend if you knew he was going to die? I could have said anything. I had a choice of millions of words and phrases, yet I couldn't utter a single one. All he had said to me at first was: "Well, thanks for carrying me home. Until next time, eh?" He had given me a cheeky smile before he opened his front door and stepped through the porthole. Just as he was closing the door, he stopped and stared at me. His eyes watered suddenly, and for the first time in my life I heard him whimper something that I never thought I'd hear him say. "I don't want to die." And then the door had shut.
On the way home I fought the tears back and had simply text him I don't want you to die either. He had never replied. There was no next time. There was nothing. That had been the last time I had ever seen my best friend.
The black sea peered up at me as I stood with a great amount of sorrow next to the coffin. I had memorised the speech word-for-word, and it was evident when I opened my mouth, for at first I did not tremble, nor did I hesitate. "When we speak of idols and role models, celebrities and famous sportsmen and sportswomen usually come to mind. Many people talk about how famous icons, such as Ghandi, are their idols and role models. However, I have never really been one to idolise those who I do not know. There has always been one role model in my life, one who fought to the bitter end. Let me tell you the story of the countless demons he fought. Not with a sword, but his bare hands. My problems always seemed so pointless and petty compared to his, yet he never thought twice about dragging me back onto my feet and helping me. He was a true hero, and my best friend. A few months ago he told me something…" And that's when I began to tremble. Like they had on the day he'd given me the news, tears burst the banks of my eyes, heeding no warning or wasting no time before sliding down my cheeks. My voice cracked, and all I could do was listen as it quickly broke. The lion had become the mouse. "He had once told me tha…that he had argue…arguably lost a battle… yet he'd be w…w…inning the greatest p…prize of all t…t…time." My hand whipped up to catch my head as it dropped. Tears were erupting from my eyes, but I pushed on. "H…he deserves that prize!" The tears continued streaming, even after my grubby hands had wiped my eyes dry. "I…I th…think you w…would all a…a…agree in joining me i…in re…re…remembering him as m…more than j…ju…just a friend… or a f…family member… or a l…lover, bu…but also as a h…h…hero. He was m…mine, and I do…don't think I was a…alone whe…when looking up to h…h…him." I could barely say anymore, though the speech was over. Through my watery eyes I could make out everybody else rubbing theirs, blowing their noises and sobbing. Part of me wished he was here to help me, and hold me up through this. The other part of me was happy for him. The thunder rumbled once more. Something came to my mind with great haste, a thought, and so I remained still, appropriately finishing the speech by saying: "He always l…loved thunder and l…lightning. I s…s…suppose we c…can all s…smile for h…h…him." And with one last burst of strength a looked up into the black sea simply said: "He's among the Thunderstorms and Rainclouds now."
I wrote this just under a year ago now, after finding out that I a friend of mine was to die in less than 6 years. Unknowning of how to react, I went out and sat in a thunderstorm, and this is how this short story was born. It usually seems to receive praise, so I'll see how you guys like it. Hell, you may all think it's terrible, or you may all love it. Who knows, eh? Comments, both praise and criticisms, are always welcome ^.^
Thunderstorms and Rainclouds
I don't think it was the heavy downpour of rain that bothered me that day. Now I look back on it, I suppose it suited the mood well. Funerals aren't happy events. The sea of black that washes up among the graveyard isn't one of glee and rejoices. The sea dampened the ground, and the trees, and the entire world. It was hard to imagine the sun ever fully shining again now that he was gone from the world. My best friend had been the center of all of the joy in my life, despite his mental illnesses and problems. No matter what happened, he'd always held his head high and strived onwards, dragging me behind with him, not letting me go. But I suppose it's the brave who die in battle, opposed to the cowards that run away and hide.
The weirdest part of it all was when he'd come out of the doctor's office and back into the waiting room, where I had been sat reading the trashy entertainment magazines that waiting rooms provided. The look on his face had been sullen, and his walk an awkward one, full of jitters and shaking. It was at that moment I knew that all was unwell, or that he had planned to trick me and fool me like he had a talent for doing. At the time I thought that everything had to have been fine. It always turned out fine. No matter how much his mind threw him back, my best friend always won the fight and prevailed, even if he did come out of it bearing some battle scars. He always came out smiling.
He didn't sit down. Instead he just stared intently into my eyes and sighed. "Let's get something to eat. I think I need to get something down my throat before I have the strength to explain anything." His voice was slow and deprived of its usual joyous tone that seemed to make the words usually dance out of his mouth. There was no dancing now, however, only marching. Heavy, straining, glum marching.
It was intensely bright that June afternoon, hence why we sat as far away from the windows as possible in Frankie and Benny's, my best friend's favourite restaurant. We ordered his favourite food, though no smile broke through his cold, sealed lips. Like he had done everything else since exiting the Doctor's office, he ate at an insanely slow speed. Naturally, I waited. I have to admit, at the time I was growing a little impatient, though I suppose that was down to how anxious I was. It had gotten past the point where it could have all been a joke. He wasn't that good of an actor and never dragged the act out this long. All I knew is that the results from the scans couldn't have been positive whatsoever. After eating half of his lasagne, he set aside his knife and fork and slowly drew his head up so that he could face me.
The pain seemed to have faded from his eyes and only remained on his face. They remained emotionless, for no tear or joy or upset lurked in them. His lips quivered, however, and his cheeks were tense. And there he sat for a few minutes, sitting back as casually as his overwrought body would let him. Eventually his mouth opened, and then closed again. Another minute of silence had followed. And then his mouth had opened, and closed again, once more. Calmly, he exhaled through his nose and said in a flat tone: "Okay. So… erm… I don't know how to put this. It's kinda… erm… well… difficult to an…announce. But, I su…suppose I ne…need you to remain calm. Okay." He exhaled through both his mouth and nose. "I'm going to d…d…die."
That was the moment when everything around me died. The noise and clatter of the restaurant around me died. The smell of freshly made Italian food died. Everything in sight other than my best friend died. It was just us two sat in a black void together, forever falling. Everything was motionless. My breathing was so steady that for a few seconds I thought it had ceased. Tears overflowed my eye sockets, not hesitating in breaking the dams and flooding my cheeks below. My body didn't have the strength or willpower to move, and so I remained completely silent and still.
What had surprised me the most is that my best friend had smiled at that point. For the first time in the last hour, the corner of his lips had curled upwards, and a soft chuckling sound walked from them. "Thank god I got that off of my chest," he had said happily before he started to devour his lasagne.
I look back on that moment now, as I stand surrounded by the black sea, realising that the two of us dealt with death in completely different ways. I had never experienced the death of a close one. I didn't have many 'close ones'. I suppose it's different when you're the one dying. It's especially different when your entire life was a constant battle against demons and monsters, all which had left their fair share of marks upon your already torn body. In time to come, my best friend described it as a relief to be finally loosing a battle. Apparently there was always a chance that he could win in the end, but I don't think his heart was quite willing to. "Whilst I'm sad to be leaving you here in this hell, I'm pretty happy I'll be escaping. It's arguable that I've lost a battle, yet I'd honestly say that upon losing I'll be winning the greatest prize of all time," he had said one afternoon as the two of us sat atop a hill, watching the sun set.
I had spent as many days as possible with him since he had announced that he was to die. He explained that it could be any time within the next year, but never explained what it was that was going to finish him. He told nobody. It was a secret he wanted to take with him to the grave, and, as much as I hated it, all I could do was respect his decision. His decision to live on life normally was also one that struck me as odd. He wanted to go back college in September and continue study philosophy and psychology. He wanted to spend the rest of his holidays just hanging out, visiting places we had visited as a child. Every night after we'd visited them I had cried, realising that it would be the last time we ever set foot upon the ground at that location together.
Unfortunately, as the days crawled on, he had appeared less in college. His girlfriend often came to me asking what was wrong, though every time I had told her the same thing. "I think he's just down with flu and too dignified to admit it," I had always managed to say through my trembling lips and upset tone. He had elected to tell nobody but me and his family, for he didn't want to raise concern and wanted to avoid the attention. An admirable move, admittedly. I'd never been one to pass off the opportunity for people to sympathise me a little. I guess death's a little different.
She was currently stood next to me, his girlfriend, holding my hand for comfort. It made me feel all the more uncomfortable, yet I had to carry on his legacy, one that composed of making everybody happy, no matter what. Thunder rumbled overhead like the belly of a hungry giant, and lightning crackled across the clear skies. Nobody even flinched. They just stared motionlessly at the priest in the middle of the circle they had formed around the hole and the coffin.
"And now," said the priest as he finished his speeches in a cheerless tone, "I would like to call upon the best friend of our young victim, for he has pre-prepared a speech for us." His words bit me harder than the cold November rain that tore at me from above. Slipping my hand free from his girlfriend, I wadded smoothly my way through the black sea, soon finding myself on the island it surrounded. The thunderclouds continued to rumble.
I cast my mind back to about a fortnight ago, when my best friend had suggested we all went out for a meal. Of course, 'we' consisted of a small group of friends and his girlfriend. That had been two nights before he had passed away. I honestly think that he had known that he was going to die within the next few days. He hadn't been at college for he hadn't had enough strength to get out of bed. That night, whilst out, I had to support him every time we walked somewhere. It's strange how everybody else just thought that he was extremely ill, and that it never occurred to them what was to come a few days later, that they would be part of the black sea in the graveyard. Yet my best friend had remained jolly and content that evening, and other than the one second that he turned to me and gave me a grave smile. The night was full of laughter, and banter, just the way he liked it.
Afterwards, I had walked him home. Given that it was November, the night had been frigid and brisk, yet none of it seemed to matter. I knew what was coming, though I daren't speak of it. This could be the last time that I ever saw my best friend, the one person who had always stood by me, and I didn't want it to be gloomy. All it was was a silent walk. He had his arm around my shoulder as I held him up whilst he hobbled down the street with his house in view. I think he was satisfied with a silent walk. There was nothing left to say. The time was up. The clock had nearly stopped ticking. What would your last words have been to your best friend if you knew he was going to die? I could have said anything. I had a choice of millions of words and phrases, yet I couldn't utter a single one. All he had said to me at first was: "Well, thanks for carrying me home. Until next time, eh?" He had given me a cheeky smile before he opened his front door and stepped through the porthole. Just as he was closing the door, he stopped and stared at me. His eyes watered suddenly, and for the first time in my life I heard him whimper something that I never thought I'd hear him say. "I don't want to die." And then the door had shut.
On the way home I fought the tears back and had simply text him I don't want you to die either. He had never replied. There was no next time. There was nothing. That had been the last time I had ever seen my best friend.
The black sea peered up at me as I stood with a great amount of sorrow next to the coffin. I had memorised the speech word-for-word, and it was evident when I opened my mouth, for at first I did not tremble, nor did I hesitate. "When we speak of idols and role models, celebrities and famous sportsmen and sportswomen usually come to mind. Many people talk about how famous icons, such as Ghandi, are their idols and role models. However, I have never really been one to idolise those who I do not know. There has always been one role model in my life, one who fought to the bitter end. Let me tell you the story of the countless demons he fought. Not with a sword, but his bare hands. My problems always seemed so pointless and petty compared to his, yet he never thought twice about dragging me back onto my feet and helping me. He was a true hero, and my best friend. A few months ago he told me something…" And that's when I began to tremble. Like they had on the day he'd given me the news, tears burst the banks of my eyes, heeding no warning or wasting no time before sliding down my cheeks. My voice cracked, and all I could do was listen as it quickly broke. The lion had become the mouse. "He had once told me tha…that he had argue…arguably lost a battle… yet he'd be w…w…inning the greatest p…prize of all t…t…time." My hand whipped up to catch my head as it dropped. Tears were erupting from my eyes, but I pushed on. "H…he deserves that prize!" The tears continued streaming, even after my grubby hands had wiped my eyes dry. "I…I th…think you w…would all a…a…agree in joining me i…in re…re…remembering him as m…more than j…ju…just a friend… or a f…family member… or a l…lover, bu…but also as a h…h…hero. He was m…mine, and I do…don't think I was a…alone whe…when looking up to h…h…him." I could barely say anymore, though the speech was over. Through my watery eyes I could make out everybody else rubbing theirs, blowing their noises and sobbing. Part of me wished he was here to help me, and hold me up through this. The other part of me was happy for him. The thunder rumbled once more. Something came to my mind with great haste, a thought, and so I remained still, appropriately finishing the speech by saying: "He always l…loved thunder and l…lightning. I s…s…suppose we c…can all s…smile for h…h…him." And with one last burst of strength a looked up into the black sea simply said: "He's among the Thunderstorms and Rainclouds now."
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