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Description
I'm still on that corner, the gash down my face throbbing after the adrenaline wore off. There are deeper, more threatening wounds, but I covered them with the vest so you wouldn't be worried. My sword and guns are in the guitar case to my left, where they are usually hidden. You know they're there, but I always have them with me so you don't appear concerned. I lean forward, feeling the pain where the knife touched me last. I hide it by continuing and turning the double-over into a motion that takes me from my state of forced rest to a weary trudge you recognize instantly. I see the concern in your face, and smile back reassuringly. "I'm okay," I say. It's just been a long week and I'm tired. I secretly will the cut to stay closed with the bindings I had treated it with earlier. If I start bleeding now, you won't listen. You'll simply take me to the hospital and spend your whole time worrying about my body, not my soul. You shrug deeper into your winter jacket. The night air is freezing, you say? I hadn't noticed. I've been quite enjoying it.

We walk from streetlight to streetlight, talking of the various things we have not spoken of in ages. I ask about your significant other, and you reply with a warm notion. It does my heart good to hear that you're happy. The pain resurfaces and a stumble, but blame it on weariness and the curb. You ask about my life, and I let vague answers and smiles lead you to a pleasant conclusion. Just as I feel I've deceived you enough to enjoy a simple evening, you stop me. I ask what's wrong, and you reply that the dark stain in my vest suggests an exciting evening. My silver tongue goes to work, trying to explain away a deep-seated problem as a simple encounter with the usual thugs. You know me too well to be tricked twice in one evening. You ask how bad it is, and I give up on the charade. It was violent, and I broke a promise I had made to you long ago. I chose to carry out judgement on the ones who had wronged you so long ago, and for just a moment I see anger in your eyes. Then, it quietly transitions to understanding, and a sad compassion I could never fathom.

You don't ask why I did it, much to my surprise. Instead we walk for a long time in silence. Then, you simply ask if I will be alright. My response is simple. "Yes, I'll be alright." We walk again in silence, and then you wish me good night. I stop to catch my breath, the ache in my side finally beginning to subside. A quick goodnight to you, and a gentle hug from your cautious arms leaves the two of us separating. I lean against another brick wall, sliding down slowly till I am seated. My dear friend, I lied to you. I won't be alright. The pain in my side did not subside because it stopped bleeding, it simply went numb. My eyes are growing dim, and my breathing becomes labored. I knew this was my last chance to see you. I left a note inside my guitar case. A phone number, and address. When I'm found, you'll be the first to know. Just remember, I've always cared about you. I loved you dearly as one of my closest friends, and I spent tonight ensuring that you would never have troubles with them again.

I close my eyes, and the sound fades.

...

......

............

... beep... beep... beep...

The sound was bothersome. Why won't it just let me pass away in peace? Wait, why am I hearing anything? I try, and fail, to open my eyes for a long time. Then, other sounds become more clear. The hustle of a medical cart in... A hallway? The sound is muffled, as if behind a closed door. That made sense, objectively. What didn't make sense is that I could hear at all. I shouldn't be here. I finally manage to crack open my eyelids, and everything is too bright. Pain blossoms in my head, and spreads like fire to the rest of my body. I croak in agony, my dry throat making sounds reminiscent of sandpaper on glass. As reason returns and the pain dulls, I hear someone talking. Is it you? Why are you saying my name? Oh, I can see you now. You're still in your winter coat, with that worried expression on your face I had hoped to never see again. You start scolding me, though your words are still a jumbled mess to my ears. Then, when the blather stops cascading out of your troubled mouth, you start to cry and grab a tight hold of my hand.

I had hoped I wouldn't have to see you cry, but at least it's better than being dead. Someone must have found me sooner than expected. After you stop crying and the world starts to make sense again, I ask you where they took my guitar case. You chuckle, amused by my query, and say that they confiscated it. I can pick it up after I get better and flash my special license in their faces, is your sarcastic remark. I simply chuckle, knowing anything more strenuous would lead to more pain.

Hey.

Yeah? your response sounds tentative.

Thank you.

Description
I'm still on that corner, the gash down my face throbbing after the adrenaline wore off. There are deeper, more threatening wounds, but I covered them with the vest so you wouldn't be worried. My sword and guns are in the guitar case to my left, where they are usually hidden. You know they're there, but I always have them with me so you don't appear concerned. I lean forward, feeling the pain where the knife touched me last. I hide it by continuing and turning the double-over into a motion that takes me from my state of forced rest to a weary trudge you recognize instantly. I see the concern in your face, and smile back reassuringly. "I'm okay," I say. It's just been a long week and I'm tired. I secretly will the cut to stay closed with the bindings I had treated it with earlier. If I start bleeding now, you won't listen. You'll simply take me to the hospital and spend your whole time worrying about my body, not my soul. You shrug deeper into your winter jacket. The night air is freezing, you say? I hadn't noticed. I've been quite enjoying it.

We walk from streetlight to streetlight, talking of the various things we have not spoken of in ages. I ask about your significant other, and you reply with a warm notion. It does my heart good to hear that you're happy. The pain resurfaces and a stumble, but blame it on weariness and the curb. You ask about my life, and I let vague answers and smiles lead you to a pleasant conclusion. Just as I feel I've deceived you enough to enjoy a simple evening, you stop me. I ask what's wrong, and you reply that the dark stain in my vest suggests an exciting evening. My silver tongue goes to work, trying to explain away a deep-seated problem as a simple encounter with the usual thugs. You know me too well to be tricked twice in one evening. You ask how bad it is, and I give up on the charade. It was violent, and I broke a promise I had made to you long ago. I chose to carry out judgement on the ones who had wronged you so long ago, and for just a moment I see anger in your eyes. Then, it quietly transitions to understanding, and a sad compassion I could never fathom.

You don't ask why I did it, much to my surprise. Instead we walk for a long time in silence. Then, you simply ask if I will be alright. My response is simple. "Yes, I'll be alright." We walk again in silence, and then you wish me good night. I stop to catch my breath, the ache in my side finally beginning to subside. A quick goodnight to you, and a gentle hug from your cautious arms leaves the two of us separating. I lean against another brick wall, sliding down slowly till I am seated. My dear friend, I lied to you. I won't be alright. The pain in my side did not subside because it stopped bleeding, it simply went numb. My eyes are growing dim, and my breathing becomes labored. I knew this was my last chance to see you. I left a note inside my guitar case. A phone number, and address. When I'm found, you'll be the first to know. Just remember, I've always cared about you. I loved you dearly as one of my closest friends, and I spent tonight ensuring that you would never have troubles with them again.

I close my eyes, and the sound fades.

...

......

............

... beep... beep... beep...

The sound was bothersome. Why won't it just let me pass away in peace? Wait, why am I hearing anything? I try, and fail, to open my eyes for a long time. Then, other sounds become more clear. The hustle of a medical cart in... A hallway? The sound is muffled, as if behind a closed door. That made sense, objectively. What didn't make sense is that I could hear at all. I shouldn't be here. I finally manage to crack open my eyelids, and everything is too bright. Pain blossoms in my head, and spreads like fire to the rest of my body. I croak in agony, my dry throat making sounds reminiscent of sandpaper on glass. As reason returns and the pain dulls, I hear someone talking. Is it you? Why are you saying my name? Oh, I can see you now. You're still in your winter coat, with that worried expression on your face I had hoped to never see again. You start scolding me, though your words are still a jumbled mess to my ears. Then, when the blather stops cascading out of your troubled mouth, you start to cry and grab a tight hold of my hand.

I had hoped I wouldn't have to see you cry, but at least it's better than being dead. Someone must have found me sooner than expected. After you stop crying and the world starts to make sense again, I ask you where they took my guitar case. You chuckle, amused by my query, and say that they confiscated it. I can pick it up after I get better and flash my special license in their faces, is your sarcastic remark. I simply chuckle, knowing anything more strenuous would lead to more pain.

Hey.

Yeah? your response sounds tentative.

Thank you.