This a short story I recently wrote. Its kind of depressing, but I needed an outlet, yknow? There are definitly minor grammar mistakes along the way, but I'll fix that later. Also I'm thinking of cutting some stuff out at the end and possibly going into more detail at certain points. Billy When I first met Billy, I didn’t know what to think of him. He was different, that was for sure. Billy didn’t really care what was cool or what everyone else was doing. For Billy, the time and the place didn’t matter, it was the person that mattered. I admired his individuality. It put him up on a pedestal in my eyes. We were about 9 when we met. We still had that childhood innocence, when life wasn’t such a challenge. When we were 12, Billy’s father died. It was a sad time, a time of morbid depression. But we made it through. And the last of our childhood innocence died with that year. There was this forest behind Billy’s house that we first ventured into a few days after meeting. A year after that, we constructed a bench in a little clearing about a mile into the woods. It was what you’d expect from 10 year olds. Nothing elaborate, nothing fancy. But we were damn proud of it. Like a beaver admiring his newly built dam, we stared at it for a good 5 minutes. Than we sat on it and we talked about what was important to us at the time; what level is your new pokemon on, did you try that new flavor of warheads (do you remember those sour little beauties?), stupid trivial things like that which, at the time, meant the world to us. A few years later, when we were both 15, we still came to that bench to talk about the important matters of life. The nails were rusted and splinters were inevitable but it was tradition. Billy was a musician. He played guitar for his band and he had an astonishing singing voice, but he had had surgery on his throat when he was 11 and as a result he couldn’t sing for more than a song or two. So he pretty much took the backseat and let his friend Dave do the singing. But he was still the best 15-year-old guitarist I knew. Music was definitely a central point in Billy’s life. I would occasionally help out with lyrics for some of their songs, but music wasn’t really my thing. Nothing was my thing, to be totally honest. Billy was really my only friend, in the true sense of the word. Our copasetic lives flowed smoothly along the tracks of time. It was almost as if we lived in a separate universe, our lives running parallel to the lives of others. Until she came. When Billy would describe her to me on our evenings at the bench, I always sensed something pretentious about her. But I suppressed such feelings and shared in Billy’s joy. Billy had his eye on a girl and as his best friend he needed my support. Not my doubts. As I heard more and more about her, all my doubts were alleviated. Had I known her true essence, I’d have done something before she caused wounds to deep to heal. When you really think about it, were nothing. In the big picture, our lives are meaningless, right? Wrong. If I learned anything from Billy, its that anyone can make a difference. Your probably tired of hearing about Billy now, but if you knew him you’d understand. Anyway lets get back to her. She put a smile on Billy’s face, and judging by his descriptions of their nights together, she put something else in his pants. Now I don’t know anything about love, but it didn’t take anyone special to tell that Billy was in love. His whole attitude changed, he was happier. It also had an effect on his music. All the songs he wrote mellowed out, and they all had some reference to her. His heart had taken flight, and with no indication of landing. Even with all this change, we still managed to maintain our tradition a few times a week, if not every day. And surprisingly, Billy never spent the whole time talking about her. He was considerate and asked me how my life was. One night, Billy told me about a dance he went to with her. They danced together for the first time and it was, as described by Billy, heaven on ecstasy. He immediately had his band learn the song they danced to and told me they would perform it at their next show. He wouldn’t, however, tell me what song it was. It was a cool July night when I met her. I arrived outside the venue where Billy’s band was performing (a local bar/restaurant) and Billy immediately approached me, his hands linked with the smoothest, most delicate hands I had ever seen. Everything about her, from the way she walked to the way she smiled, had something angelic about it. It was instantly clear to me what had brightened Billy’s life so much. We were introduced, and we proceeded inside. Billy had reserved us front row seats and, after a brief embrace with her, went backstage to join his band. In a few minutes the dulcet tones of Billy’s love induced songs commenced, and it was wonderful. At times, I couldn’t help but turn my head over to her, and her eyes met mine, and she smiled. At this time, I wished she were mine. I realize now how lucky I was that this wasn’t the case. When the show was coming to an end, Billy announced that they would play one last song for a special someone. At first I couldn’t tell what song it was. It sounded vaguely familiar but I was clueless. When the chorus came, I realized where I knew it from. It was an Elton John song that had been in the movie The Lion King that I’d seen so long ago. And when Billy sang the chorus, “Can you feel, the love tonight” I thought to myself, yes. It was then I understood what people meant when they spoke of ‘the power of love’ Its amazing how easily you can be shot down when your soaring above the clouds. For Billy, it was a rough fall. It was a ghastly night, the rain pouring like a massive waterfall in the Amazon, and the wind shrieking as if it were a dying animal. Naturally, Billy and I refrained from our tradition on nights such as this, but Billy’s parents would be out of town tonight and we had planned on taking advantage of the empty house. I managed to trek over to Billy’s house (he was only a block or two away) and knock on the door, but Billy did not come rushing down to greet me. The storm increased in strength, as if challenging my will. Luckily I remembered where Billy’s parents kept the spare key and, after trying to knock a few more times, I let myself into the house. All of the lights were off and I wondered if the power had gone out due to the storm. I went upstairs to Billy’s room and pushed the half closed door open. The scene that greeted me will forever be tattooed upon my mind. Billy was collapsed on the ground, several empty beer bottles surrounded him, and a pair of bloody scissors lay on the desk. I rushed over to examine Billy and to my horror saw slash marks up and down his wrist. I tried to roll Billy over onto his back and as I did, he moaned, which was a welcome sign that he was alive. I’m still surprised at my skillful handling of the situation. I managed to revive him and, after throwing up several times, he was well enough to have a conversation. He told me how, after gathering sever beers in his room for their night of revelry; he noticed he had a message from her on his phone. He listened to the message, and it was then his heart was torn in two. Apparently, she had met another guy and had decided he was better than Billy. I could not believe it, how such a sweet and innocent looking girl could be so cruel and heartless. At first Billy was irrational, he was speaking in a rushed and incoherent manner, but he soon calmed down. I promised not to tell his parents about his drinking binge and cutting, and over the next few days I comforted him. It was amazing how I was able to drag him out of the emotional pit he’d fallen into. In a week he was back to normal and ready to do a show. I wish I could have realized his happiness was false, but I didn’t. Before the show I had an argument with him. He told me that he was going to have his band finish with Can You Feel the Love Tonight, and I told him he needed to let go of her. After a brief argument, I told him he needed to suck it up and move on with his life. He replied with “You wouldn’t understand, you’ve never been in love”, and he stormed backstage. When the end of the show came, Billy announced they would be playing one last song. To my surprise, he also announced that he would be playing this song solo and he sat down in front of the piano as the rest of the band grudgingly evacuated the stage. Billy’s solo performance was possibly the most emotional performance I have ever seen. He was on the verge of tears the whole time. His voice held up fine, it was shame he hand’t gotten to use it more. After the song, Billy announced he had something important to say and that he would return in a few minutes, as he wanted to take a quick break. He told his band to stay out here and entertain the crowd as he went back. After a few minutes Billy appeared, looking solemn yet determined. Silence enveloped the room, like the shadow of night overtaking the day. In his hand was a small backpack. He approached the front of the stage and relinquished a piece of paper from the backpack. He placed it down on the stage. Next, he pulled out a gun. Several people screamed, panic was rising. Calm as can be, Billy put the gun in his mouth and closed his eyes. His mom darted towards the stage faster than a bullet, shrieking all the way. With the gun still in his mouth, Billy muttered “I love you mom” and, tears streaming down his cheeks, he pulled the trigger. The last thing I ever said to Billy was “suck it up and move on”. I’ll never know if I pushed him into suicide, or if it was his intention all along. Judging by the fact that he had a gun so readily accessible, he may have planned it in advance. But I couldn’t help but feel terribly guilty. The day after his funeral, at which I read a eulogy, I went to our bench. And I sit and I weeped, and I looked over to the empty space next to me that was once occupied by Billy. Even now, 15 years later, when I have a family, and a career, I’ll never forget Billy. I’ll never forget what he did for me. I learned so much from Billy and, perhaps, he taught me more in death than he ever could have in life. But I’d trade all of that knowledge, if I could just have Billy back.
wow that's an awesome story. i love it when the good guys die in the end. are you really just 15? awesome work.
Thanks man...and yea, just 15. You should check out VegOuts stuff in the poetry section...hes a great writer, and younger than me.
Thats was really good. i wish he didnt die though... It seemed a bit sudden or maybe i just read too fast...
Hopefully this was just fiction. It has a non-fictional feel to it. I appreciate that some people consider suicide necessary now and then, but to do it that way in a public place is heartless and tasteless. As for women, no pussy is worth dying for. Like your narrator says, just say fuck it and move on.
