The Shirt

We all have our ups and downs. I suppose this is a down.

It was decided; the next day, he would die. It was an easy decision. Life seemed hopeless anyways, and his gut had been slipping lower and lower as the day’s passed. But not even the quickening of hours, could spur his emotions.
Few people noticed the change, after all, it’s only like a teen to sleep all day, and stay up through the night. No one cared when he idly laid in bed until the sun made it’s way past his window. No one cared when he began to slowly drift from the world.  He was only a teenager. But much more complex things entered his mind. Things were no longer simple. He wouldn’t just cry and be over something, it would linger, leaving a dirty residue in his gut. One that built up quickly. At times, he even felt swelled. And one night, he planned the drastic.
Sitting alone at his desktop, clutching a small box knife in his hand, he etched. First it was his glowing monitor. He carved quickly, and blew away the remaining fragments from time to time. Blowing once more, and leaning back, he admired his handy work.

“Did I love you?”

It was small, and rested towards the top of the monitor, gray flecks still stuck around it. And though, upon admiring it for several seconds, he had an epiphany, and pulled the knife down upon the plastic of his keyboard. Etching carefully this time, he finished.

“Yea, I rather think I did. But what did you care?”


Pulling up quickly, his heart pulled itself into his throat. A sharp hum hung in the air, stopped, and begun again. It was his phone. Looking to his left, and flipping open the receiver, he spoke.
“H…hello?” His voice was soft, hesitant even. Soon, an electronic reply blasted through the receiver.
“Hey! What’s up? How are you tonight?” The voice was loud, almost excited over the phone call.
“I…I’m fine I guess…why?”
“Oh…just wondering. “
“Well…yea…well…you see there is this girl and wel--”
“Did you see my shirt today?”
He sighed heavily into the receiver, this was getting annoying. “Yea, it was red…with those penguins or someth--
“Wasn’t it cute!”
He had to admit, it was adorable, but it was far from a priority, and for that, his heart sank. He should have cared about her shirt. Sighing again, he spoke, this time closer to the receiver. “Yea…it looked good on you.” He hesitated for a moment as pressure built up in his chest. “You…you looked beautiful today. I…I hope you know that.”
A laugh erupted from the phone, and he moved his ear away, a grimace tattooed to his face. “Yea! HE told me today. He…he’s so fine…and…thanks, that’s really nice of you. You’re a sweet guy, you know that?”
The pressure built up quickly, and he leaned back in his chair. “Yea…thanks…you say that a lot and I--”
“I really mean it when I say it…you’re a good friend.”
“Th-thanks…I…that means a lot…thanks…”
“Yea…hey, can I ask you a serious question?”
The pressure came back, and thrust itself into him. He was glancing around his room quickly, and awaited her question. “Go on…” He mumbled softly.
“Do you…do you see anything in me?”
He stopped. The question was easy. He saw everything in her. The way her hair bounced gently
when she walked. The way her sly smile curved elegantly across her features. And after a moment, he hesitated. He had to say something…anything.
“Well…yea, I see a lot in you. You have a lot of potential. And I personally believe you’ll go far in life. Why?”
He leaned back and hoped. Maybe she liked him over…HIM. Maybe she would decide that he was better. After all, they would talk often, and she tended to stray over to him, rather than anywhere else. In fact, the tension seemed to be wearing away, all the problems he had, seemed to slip into the ravine of his mind. The clouds seemed to clear, and life just seemed to--
“Because…HE doesn’t notice me. I like him…a lot. You know? And I can’t understand why he wouldn’t like me. I…I do everything I can…” She said, almost crying as her voice pitched up towards the end.
It was false. All the thoughts were. No one could love him. This, the girl he cared for the most, this, the girl whom he devoted many hours of his time to, couldn’t even like him remotely. So how could anyone else? How could anyone show him sympathy. How could…anyone ever…ever care?
“Well…” He stopped, for, he had no explanation. He himself was confused. Looking around, he pulled something out of the darkest depths of his soul, and talked. “I’m sure he does see a lot in you as well. It’s just, different. Maybe he does care deeply for you, it’s just not the way your used to. I’m sure there is a very go--”
“He wouldn’t even talk to me today.” Her voice was sour, and it cut off his sentence. But he had to admit, it was full of nothing.
“Well…I…I don’t know what to say except for…I’m sorry and that…I know what your going through. I’m going through the same thing with a girl right now and well…”
“You are? Awh…I’m sorry. Whose the girl?
“Well…” He stopped again. It was her. And something inside of him screamed for him to say it. Something inside of him screamed for him to bluntly admit to loving her. To caring for her. But…the seal was tighter than the scream, and he said nothing. Silence ensued, and he thought momentarily about what to say. And how she might reply. But after several moments, she broke the silence.
“Hey…I gotta go, but I expect you to tell me okay…okay?
“Yea…sure…” He mumbled.
“Bye!” Her voice was cheery, and he couldn’t help but feel a wave of feelings for her.
“Yea…bye…have a good day.”
“You too…”
And with a small click, the call ended. Placing the phone down, it made a large, dull clunck against the wooden desktop, and laid still, a small light flashed on it.

“02:04”

The call was short. A rarity. It’s shortness left him still, his hand not moving from the phone, as if she’d call him back in seconds. But she never did, and the silence deafened him. After several minutes, he shifted slightly, and made his way out of his room.
The hallway was full from the noise of the T.V. in the other room. His parents seemed to be addicted to it. When they came home, they would sit down, maybe after sticking on some blue jeans, and watch classics such as “Friends” until dusk arrived. To him, it was saddening, but it mattered not as he made his way into the kitchen.
It was a bright place, as several lights were imbedded into the ceiling, each putting a spotlight type glow to the room. The counters were an eggshell white, and only the stainless steel of the refrigerator seemed to dullen the atmosphere. Which reminded him of why he ventured into this bright area anyways; he was thirsty. It seemed to creep down his throat, and he couldn’t help but crave the sweet smelling liquid known as cola. Ripping open the door to the refrigerator, and once again being amazed by the brightness of the setting, pulled out a blue and silver can, and popped the top. A loud hiss rang out, and a quick fizz followed. Hefting the chilled can to his lips, the caramel colored juice seeped down his throat, tingling the entire trip down. It was cold, and he immediately fell in love with the concoction. But soon, the tingling began to irritate his throat, and he removed the cold aluminum from his lips, and placed it back on the counter with a loud clank. Clearing his throat of any mucas, he made his way back down the dim hall, and into the even dimmer den that he called his room.
He placed himself back at his desk, and burped slightly causing a dull pain to arise in his chest. Rubbing it slightly, he sat, and admired his etchings. They now meant a lot to him. And when he passed through, they would know who they were…hopefully.
Silence once again ringing out, and once again bugging him to the extent of pain, and picked up his receiver once more. The silence seemed to bring out the “emo” inside of him. Picking up the phone, and flipping up the receiver once more, he dialed in a number, and waited. The dial tone screeched out, once…twice…and then a third time. By the fourth time, a heavy, though apathetic voice rang forth. After clearing it’s throat, it spoke.
“…Yea…”
“Hey…what’s up? She just called me….I don’--”
“Yea…hey, man? I got’s this girl on the other line okay? You know…my girlfriend? Dude, tomorrow, were ditching fourth hour! It’s gonna be a fun time buddie. Anyways, I’ll seeya mkay?”
“Huh? Oh…yea…well..” Anger filled him. This happened every damn time he tried to call him. Either him and his girlfriend talked to no end, or something was up. He assumed simply that his friend didn’t care to talk to him much. His heart dropping, he slammed the phone shut, his friend still trying to say good-bye at the end of the doomed line.
Sighing once more, he swiveled around him room, his bed turning to a blur, then his desk, and his drawer, and back again in some sort of rollercoaster ride.
“Idle hands are the devils workshop…” He whispered it softly, not realizing the irony of it. Planting his feet firmly onto the floor, he stopped. He never did anything really. He just sat at the alter that was his computer desk, and typed away. Usually a story of some sort. One that would carry him into the night, one that lifted his heart, and numbed his fingers. Though sometimes it was a sad poem, and other times it was a simple quote. One’s he knew were true to others, though couldn’t by the force of God apply to him. Repositioning himself in front of the monitor with a new tattoo, he clicked in a few things, and laid his head down across the desk. He folded up his arms, he elbows poking the warm display softly, and closed his eyes.
What would he do? He had no future, nothing to live for. No one to even care for him. No…no one cared. Not even his friend could spare him some cheap time on the phone. No, not even his T.V. obsessed parents could pull themselves away from the show to give him a hug. A simple hug was all he needed. Weather it be from his mother, or from his father, he cared not. As long as it wasn’t a guy…those didn’t count. Or at least they never made him feel better about himself. But why couldn’t a girl care. One that could love him, maybe even appreciate him for who he really was. Instead of the introvert in the dress shirts, the one that sat at the back of the class and fiddled with his pencil all hour. Instead he hoped they would someday see the sad part of him. The one that ached for the love he desired so. The one who would throw away his life, just to make the one he loved happy. But…someday would never come. He assumed so at least.
Pulling himself back up into a sitting position, he thought about his past, the loves he once had, and the romances once shared. He thought about all the small moments, where lips met each other. He thought about all the times “I love you” was whispered, and even the times it was revoked. He thought dullfully about the times he would hold their hands. And he missed it. Once again he ached for the love and attention so many people refused to give, but said he deserved. He didn’t, and assumed he couldn’t understand their logic. They would love him enough to tell him that he mattered, and that one day he would find someone. But never wanted to be that person. It hurt, and his heart fell once more.
He had been happy in the relationships of course. Few went for very long, but one stretched on for what he had hoped to be forever. It had occupied his mind for a while, and it seemed to never leave, only to stain his consciousness as much as it could. He loved her so much. And when she kissed a man, and held that man closer to her heart than him, it killed him. When she touched that man, it killed him. And yet, at the time when she held that man, she held him too, just…farther away. He could feel her apathy towards him as the months past, and yet, it was still a surprise.
She…had cheated.
But what would keep the next girl from doing it? After all he was only a stepping stone. A small one at that.
And so, that night, he formulized a plan. One that would sink the stepping stone.
He would film it. All of it. From the beginning, to the end. He would capture it on tape. His tears, and the emotions they held. He would capture it, from the first note, to the last scream. From the hatred, to the burning. And everyone would see it. Of course, there were things that would have to be guaranteed. Such as it’s publication.  But at the time of his own death, he doubted it would matter.
Reaching up, towards the top of his desk, he pulled forth a lined piece of paper, and produced a pen from his desk drawer. Upon it, he scribbled a small list of things, not only to do, but things to prepare for.

Death…

Leaning back, he thought this too was obvious, and scratched it out with the pen. This left an empty sheet of paper, and an empty mind. He was drawing blanks. Besides a camera, what did he need? And…how was it going to happen? Was he to hang? Was he to--no…he had the idea. It was easy, maybe too easy, and he liked that.
Turns out, he wouldn’t be the killer. Sure, he would nudge himself in the way of death, but he wouldn’t cause it. No, his fragile mind could only steer the way into the hole, not actually jump into it. And so, he would need help. And he decided that the fastest, heaviest thing he could get a hold of would do the action.
It would have to be a car. And he would simply jump in front, and it would be over. But what would it feel like? What would it be like to have the bumper bash into his knees? And how would the air whistle as he would be catapulted over? Would it screech through his ears? What kind of bruising would he endure? It sent s shiver down his spine. It would be a painful experience no doubt. But he…he had to do it. It was a favor to the world around him. After all what kind of help was he anyways? He could hardly get a girl, his parents looked down on him as a failure, and his own dog had left him for the after life.
He sighed, balling up the piece of paper, and throwing it casually in the trash. It bounced off the light green rim of the trash can, and fell blandly to the floor. He never picked it up. Instead, out of frustration he launched the pen at the trash, only for it to hit the back end, and catapult over.
Mumbling a few curse words under his breath, he pulled the air in, and released it into an attempt to calm his mind. And after a few seconds of this exercise, the flames died down, and only the sick pit in his stomach remained. He tried to ignore it, and in an attempt to do so, he laid down on his bed, and tried to drift away. Though the problems of the day, kept the sleep away. Sitting up, and shaking his head in an odd attempt to shake the pain away, he sighed, and glanced at the clock, maybe it was too early to get any real form of sleep.

“11:37 P.M.”

Of course it was late enough to get some sleep, that’s why he couldn’t. Pulling himself to the end of the bed, he picked up a small, brown notebook. Some people would mistake it for leather; those people were wrong. Flipping the top off, and pulling a pen from the spiraling metal bindings, he scratched a few things down. Titling it “Why I don’t matter” in bold, and sloppy penmanship, he got to work.



I don’t matter, because no one likes me. Sure, they kinda do, like a dog would like a piece of meat I suppose. But it’s all relative anyways. I don’t matter because the scientists tell me that my internal goal in life is to f**k someone. I guess I really am meant to change the world with my penis. Yay. At least it’s one skill I have. I guess I just want to say I’m worthless, not by scientific fact, or even by the way people look at me, or even the way the world views me. I’m worthless because all I do is consume, I have yet to aid this world in anyway, and I’m surprised that it’s yet to kick me out on it’s own. I guess I’m doing it’s job soon…
He finished in a few minutes, only pausing once or twice to think of new reasons. He sighed deeply as restlessness pooled through him. And upon laying down once more, the notebook residing in the floor, he drifted off, despite the unrest. He could feel his body seem to loose it’s weight, and his mind begin to numb. And it wasn’t long before he lost consciousness.
* * *


It’s a far far better thing I do, than I have ever done. It’s a far far better place I go, than I have ever known.

The words echoed softly through the pitch blackness that was his mind. It seemed open, and endless. It felt as such. He felt it engulf him, and it’s sickening tug made his head spin, almost as if he were upside down. And yet, he wasn’t there, wasn’t there at all. He was somewhere else, doing something else. Trying to be someone else. But he was failing no doubt, as always. And as he stayed the same, struggling person, the darkness drove the same course, pulling at his soul, while his body begged for the return.
And just like an artist is to place his paintbrush upon the canvas, his body appeared. The situation seemed to be in third person, and the light tan, and wavy brush strokes that soon became his arms stretched forth, gripping at the nothingness that surrounded him. And yet, no matter how dismal the situation seemed, his sprits lifted slightly. The tug downwards seemed to lighten, and the hole seemed to fill up slightly. And then the landscape came into view. It was beautiful, gorgeous even. Her hair still bouncing the way he remembered, her face turned to look at him, even though her body faced the other way. She was smiling, just as she always did, only, towards him. He was surprised, and a smile of his own, though rusty, spread gracefully across his face. She turned, and spoke, though soft.
“See? It’s never too late to smile. I guess I just have that way with you. Don’t I?” She said, winking slightly towards the end.
“Heh…yea…I…I guess you do. Th-thanks fo--” He could feel the burning sensation rise up in his face, and he knew something terrible was happening when she smiled even wider.
“You’re blushing!” She exclaimed, cutting off his sentence.
“Heh…well, yea I…I guess I am…sorry…” He said as the burning sensation grew worse. She laughed heavily, and reached into her purse, pulling forth a small mirror, and held it up to his face.
“See!” She said, full of glee. “You’re blushing! It’s so cute!” He voice once again pitched up into a high squeal to induce the thought of cuteness. But something was wrong, and the burn melted away. His heart lit on fire instead, and everything seemed to pull away. Terror glued itself onto his face. His legs began to give away, and he wanted to fall, but stayed steady. His mind raced, and his hands clenched into sweaty fists.
It wasn’t him in the mirror. It wasn’t him she liked. It was someone else, just as always. And as she pulled down the mirror, and moved forth for a kiss, and just as they’re lips were about to interlock, the scene shredded to pieces, and he awoke in a cold sweat.

* *             *

He awoke with a loud intake of air, and bolted up in his bed. He looked around, his pale green eyes beginning to dilate, and pulling in his surroundings. His legs were bound up in the blankets, and it took several seconds to rind them free of their entanglements. Once he pulled them free, he scooted himself to the end of the bed, and pulled up the notebook, his scratchings still tattooed to the surface. Pulling the pencil back out, he started again, right below the last paragraph, it was short, but mattered a lot to him.

I don’t matter, because no one cares about me. Because, I cannot succeed.

It pained him to write the words, and they stung into his mind, just as the dream still lingered like a bad after taste. It wasn’t him…it wasn’t him at all. It was…some guy. He had hair like his, but he nose seemed longer. His facial features were different. He…just…wasn’t him.
Laying back down, he closed his heavily laden eyes, and rested. Morning would come soon.

* *             *

The morning light was bright, and shone off of the TV screen at the perfect angle to hit him square in the face. He grunted slightly, and moved himself. The weight of his own weariness pulling him back into slumber. But he persisted, and got up, though unwillingly.
He was still fully clothed from the night before, and his jeans and collard shirt were now crumpled into a soft outer skin. He removed himself from his room, and stumbled into the living room, his dad was there watching the TV. Almost as if he had been there all night.
“Morning dad…” He mumbled as he fell into the couch.
“Morning son…say, can I talk to you about something? His voice was soft, almost as if he were worried. This brought fear into his heart, it was too early for that.
“Umm…yea…sure…go ahead.” He grumbled, unsure of himself.
“Well…you seem pretty sad lately…and…well…I just want to tell you to suck it up. Life get’s harder. All you really do it lay around the house all day crying because some girl wont touch you. There are more, get over it. Don’t worry, you’ll find a wife someday.” His voice held contempt, almost as if it were scripted by someone other than him. Though his usual hardness shone through.
“Well…gee wiz, thanks dad.” He grumbled, insulted.
“No prob son…” His dad said, almost angry at his son because of the reply. His father leaned back, and grasped the remote, and began to play his favorite sport; channel surfing.
And so, he made his way back into his room, peeved at himself for the mistake of even trying to talk to him. Plopping down into the soft plush chair he so often called his home, he punched a button, and watched as the power surged through it. A soft hum appeared in the air, and he began to wonder when he had turned his computer off the night before. But the thought didn’t matter much to him, and it drifted away.
Clicking a few things on the screen, he pulled up a word processor, and begun to punch in key’s, the read as this:

This isn’t enough. Nothing I do is enough. Everywhere I go, and everything I do is minuscule compared the world around me. Everyone is large, while I am small. Everyone is angry, while I am sad. Why am I so different? Why am I the odd one out? But whatever I do, it wont be enough. To simply bargain for death in the middle of a busy street isn’t enough. No, I have to be grand, I have to be big and angry. But what do I do? How can I do this? Filming…letting everyone see my own death is far from the satisfaction I require. I want to do something as I die…

Deleting it in frustration, the thought still hung loose in his mind. He wanted to do something as he passed away. Not stand like a duck. But what?
Scanning his room, he came across a drawer, and an old Xbox, his bed, and then, his guitar. It was a dark green, almost military-ish. A common six-string was all. But it left him with an odd idea. He would sing, and play while awaiting his own death. Yea, that would add some sort of artistic sadness to the whole situation. But what to play?
He brushed it off, and thought of the other aspects, thought “Why am I doing this?” never seemed to come to mind. But there was one thing he wanted to do. He wanted to tell people how he felt, and tell them how he felt about them. And so, pulling forth a pen, and a scrap piece of paper, he wrote.

It’s strange, I almost feel bad for leaving you behind. Not as if I could do anything about your sorrow, or even your safety. But I just want you to know I cared. In the loosest form, I loved you. But, I understand that you like him, more than me. And, I’m sorry for the things I’ve done to you. I’m sorry for the time I’ve wasted, and the time you’ve had to spend lingering around me so that I could feel important. Well.. Thank you. It meant a lot, and I’m sorry, and I feel terrible about this one the most; I never cared about your shirt. It’s…just cloth. Sorry…I could have cared more about you and your affairs, after all, it’s what I ask for from you, I should give it in return, but I’ve failed you in that sense. Sorry…hope your life goes well…

Finishing up with a sigh, he neatly, and tightly folded it into a tight square, and wrote in small letters on the front.
“Anna”
Finishing it up, he placed it neatly on his desk, and pulled a small white envelope from his desk drawer, addressed it, and finally, stamped it. He would mail it. Throwing it on his desk, he pulled another scrap piece of paper from his desk, and began to write.

I want to say I’m sorry to you. Much in the way I want to say sorry to everyone. Not for leaving, just for being here. I want to say sorry to you, because I tried to be there for you, even though you had a girlfriend. Also, I suppose I should be sorry because I didn’t have one. As if it ever hurt you. I’m sorry for trying to be your friend. Even if I’m now a foe. Night friend, hope you’re life flows fine. Doncha feel stupid now?

Feeling his heart raise in anger, he folded it messily, odds and ends sticking out at random spots. And upon slipping it into another envelope, he felt bad. He had half-assed another friendship. And so, to respect him, pulled the note forth, and refolded it, this time taking more care. He addressed that one, and stamped it. But his mind was now a blank, and nothing could be pulled from it.
Who was there left to write to?
No one came to mind, and so, he settled with what he had.
Do I want to do this?
Yes…
But why?
He came up with no immediate answer, and tried hard to think, though no inspiration came. Sitting like a duck, he looked down at his notebook, and it’s scrawled writing, and his vigor returned, his heart pumping, and his mind melting.
So this was it.
Grabbing his guitar, and pulling it around his neck, he snatched the envelopes, and walked from his room. No longer stunned by the brightness, he moved through, almost with determination. But someone stopped him. It was his father, the usual hindrance.
“Son? Where are you going with…you’re guitar? His father asked quizzically, almost as if he had known about the plan, and feared it just as he did.
“I…”He had nothing, what would he say? Oh dad I’m going to go play in traffic didn’t sound appealing, so another thought formed. “…I…I I’m going to go play guitar outside. You know…grab some fresh air.”
His fathers features dropped, almost out of boredom. Placing his gaze once again at the T.V., he shook a hand, and dismissed him. “Alright, go have fun…or something.”
He nodded, he forced his way out the door, and into the sunlight. It wasn’t as bright as he expected. The sun was the farthest in the sky, and it seemed to be noon, at least that’s what he assumed. But as he moved past the tree, and down the cement path that lead to his driveway, something odd happened. A small, white car pulled up quietly. Almost elegantly it climbed up the driveway. It stunned him, and his mouth opened slightly. The car halted, the engine still humming slightly. And from it she climbed. She ripped herself from the car, and turned and looked at him. A smile crawled across her face as she saw him, and he knew what he looked like.
He must have looked terrible. His dirty, thick brown hair had not been tended to, his eyes were bloodshot from the night before, and late waking left heavy, purple bags around his eyes. His clothes were a rumpled shell, and his pants were halfway falling off. His bottom lip was a bright red from the beating it had taken from biting his lip too much. But she didn’t seem to care, and, with a small hop over the grass, she made her way to him.
“Hey bud…you okay?” She said, laughing slightly.
He was still amazed. He could hardly speak, and for a moment, all that came out were small grunts. “W-well yea…I…I guess I’m fine. Want to walk with me for a little while?”
Her eyes grew wide at this, almost as if she repelled it. But her gaze softened, and her smile returned. “Sure, but with your guitar?” She said with a nudge at the guitar.
“Well sure…why not?”
She shrugged. “I can’t think of a reason.”
“Then we shall walk eh?”
“Yup…” She said it boringly, as if she had expected something different. And he felt bitter towards her for it, he would give her something to be interested about, but he couldn’t help but smile.
“Sorry…I looked terrible…” He said as they made their way down the drive way. They stopped as the car smoothly pulled away, but started again once it had. She grinned.
“Nah…you look fine. Tired, but…that’s alright.” She said with another bored shrug.
“Well…either way, I’m sorry…”
“It’s fine.”
“Hey, one sec okay?” He said, supporting the guitar with his hands, and trotting over to the mailbox. He shoved them in, fearing his dad would see. But after the metallic squeak of it closing, it was over. And they would get their messages.
And so they made their way down the street. They didn’t talk much, and from time to time she would glance nervously at his guitar. Almost as if she thought he would break out into song. But the walk was scary, and quiet. His heart lumped up into his throat as they made it to the road.
It was cold outside, and thus far, neither of them had been affected by it. But by the time they reached the road, the cold had sunk well into their hearts. The wind picked up, and her hair softly flowed in the noon sun. She tried to smile, but her lip began to tremble, and she soon gave up, and began to blush.
Looking both ways, from one end of the street, to the next, he smiled. “Guess I’m not the only one around here who can hardly smile eh?”
She grimaced at the comment, and shivered once more. “Yeah yeah…Yeti, you don’t get cold.”
“And?”
“…I…I don’t know. Zach, why are we here anyways? Are we going to cross?”
“N-no…w-were not. Listen…I have to tell you something. I…I’m going…well…you’ll see. Just…um…make me a promise.”
Her eyebrow raised slightly, but she agreed. “Sure…what is it?”
“Don’t uh…” The cars began to pick up, the light must have turned green. Their noise forced him to raise his voice. “don’t forget me…okay?”
She strained to hear him, but nodded without understanding. “Zach, what are you talking about?” She said, having to raise her voice as well.
Pulling out the camera, and placing it gently on the fence behind him, he turned to look at her. She was cold, but beautiful. And though  she seemed to be loathing every minute near him, she seemed to be thinking, the gears twisting and turning inside her brain, churning out abstract thoughts, and pulling pieces together. After a moment, her eyes widened, and she looked at him with a fierce, almost desperate look.
“No…” She mouthed. “Don’t do it…Zach…don’t…just please…we can talk things over…don’t…please…Zach…”
Pressing the power button, and pressing play, he stepped back, and looked into the camera gingerly, the cars slowing, and words becoming easier to hear. Ignoring her pleading, he stared into the camera, and spoke loudly. “Remember this face world. Remember it well. You’ve tainted it…”
Turning, he looked at her, his heart full of fear, and his mind churning out ideas of why he shouldn’t step onto the road. It screamed at him not to enter. It screamed at his legs to freeze where they stood. It told his body to lay down, but it disobeyed. It disobeyed itself, and the hidden codes it lived by. Instincts wouldn’t get it out of this one. “It’s for the best…just kinda…just kinda wished you didn’t have to be here. You know…when it all went down.” He said, raising his voice once more as the cars began to scream by. “I had planned on it just being me out there, a sitting duck. But if you want to leave, I understand. I’ve thought it through, and…I want to live, but I see no point. I wanted to have something with you, as a couple. But I see that it’s an impossibility. I wanted a lot of things. Believe me, living was right up there. But…I’ve come to a conclusion, and I see it as the healthiest one out there. I’m just gonna give up babe…right here. Good bye…loved ya.”
The light was green, it was time to go.
Pulling up his guitar, the began to play an inaudible tune. His fingers plucked the melody softly, almost as if it was a silent show. But he didn’t care. It was a distraction, not for a show, but for his own well being. He had always wanted to write a song, he assumed this was his chance.
Stepping out into the asphalt, he could hear her muffled cries. But she wouldn’t move. No way she would. She would just stand and cry, maybe even call him a few names. He began to strain to listen. It was only his name, and how she loved him. But it was bullshit, all of it was.
“Stop! Oh my God…please! Someone help! He…He’s gonna kill himself! Someone…p…please! He--” Her screams were cut off by a loud horn, and his head snapped in the direction of the noise. It was an old Ford. The rust detracted from the environment around it, but it never tried to swerve, as he wasn’t in it’s path. It flew past, and his fingers strummed a broken chord. Time for the next round. The new one appeared over the horizon, and hard fingers dug into his shoulders. He was ripped back, off of the street. Stumbling out onto the grass, they fell upon each other, the guitar pressing against his body, and her own. Tears were forming on her face, and his own, as the burning outlined his eyes.
“Please…” She gasped. “Please don’t do this…please…”
But he ignored her, and pressed his hands against the soft, wet earth and pulled himself from it. Standing once more, he lifted the guitar from himself, and walked once more to the street. The light was green still, and cars flooded past. He spotted a small one, the driver was a young blonde, and seemed more in tune with the phone against her ear, than the guitar in the air. Gripping it by it’s neck, he reared it behind his head, and swung at the car. It zoomed right into it, causing the guitar neck to snap off, and splinter. The smell of breaks wafted into the air, and the green guitar was smashed into the air, only to slide up against the windshield. It banked over, much as he would. The car screeched to a halt, and several curse words swung into the air. Seeing his chance, he looked back at her once more, laying against the ground, a grimace upon her face, her ears listening for the sharp scream that would be his dieing breath.
“Loved ya…” And with that, he flung himself into an SUV, his mind still screaming at his legs to stop, but they reared, and let go into the air. Like dodging bullets he went into the air, the wind screeching against his ears, and the smell of breaks still in his nose. His body was numb for the impact, and his final thoughts cruised through his mind. What would it feel like?
Wait. Maybe she would take it back and be with him, if only to save his life. They could be together. Sure, for now it would just be to keep him from killing himself, but after a while he would grow on her. And her love would be real. They…they could have a family. They could be everything. Please…Lord…let me--”
It was too late. The dull pressure crashed against his body, and his head whipped forewords, his chin spearing his chest.  The grill broke his bones, and even through the choas and burning pain that swept through the final pieces of his mind. He could hear her still cry, and her reply.
“I loved you too…”