by Mark Diaz
This was a getting out of a rut for me, I'm posting here as a first test.
|And then, there was light.
Not in a biblical kind of way, just... a bright light. An idea, the sun, a car moving in my direction, all of the above, who knows? Not me. I'm not the kind of person who knows things. The last time I could grasp the concept of knowledge was when my friend died, and I knew it was my fault.
Maybe that bright light was an ambulance, or the spark in his eyes going away. I could assume that's the case and be happy for finally knowing something. Yes, happy. Such joy.
"Dont worry about it," his final words.
It's always been a mission of his to make everyone feel better, and even before it actually happened, if you asked him if that would be the last thing he would like to do, he would say yes. Then he did it. What a brag.
So here I am, holding his blood in my hands, trying to gain wings so I can follow him. But I can't get wings. Even if I could, the weight over my chest would stop me from flying, and I would stay here, down here, looking up and unable to fly even though I got the freaking wings. That would be worse.
The ambulance is not here anymore. The sun already set. I am left in the dark. There is no more light.