Ghost Guardian

Chapter 11

462 words.

Quick A/N before you start this. Especially if you know me irl. Don't kill me please. No matter how tempting it is. Thanks.

They put him onto a stretcher to get him to the nearest hospital. He's crying. Hard.

"Hey, Phillip. You have to get through this. For your father. For your mother. For the rest of your family. For me. Please." I whisper to him, holding his hand.

They lay him down.

"I'm trying, Bluie. I'm trying so damn hard. But I can't. I can't survive this. I don't have it in me.  I- I'm-" he coughs. "I'm going to die, Bluie. You can't do anything about it. It's infected. I'm going to die." He coughs again, this time, with blood. I know he doesn't have much time left.

"I know. I know," I whisper.

"Does it hurt, dying I mean," he asks nervously.

I think for a second. "Quicker and easier than falling asleep," I say with a smile.

"Okay." I can tell he's about to give up when we hear Alexander running and yelling, trying to find him.

"Where is my son?" He asks, panicked.

"Mr. Hamilton! Come in! They brought him in half an hour ago. He lost a lot of blood on the way over-"

"Is he alive?" He cuts in.

"Yes, but you have to understand the bullet entered just above his hip and lodged in his right arm-"

"Can I see him, please?"

"I'm doing everything I can, but the wound was already infected when he arrived."

Alex walks over.

"Phillip!" Alex says. I can tell he's on the verge of panicking.

"Pa!" He chokes out. "I did exactly as you said, Pa. I held my head up high."

"I know, I know, shhh."

"High."

"I know, I know, shh. I know, you did everything just right-"

"Even before we got to ten-"

"Shhhh-"

"I was aiming for the sky-"

"I know, I know. Shhh-"

"I was aiming for the sky!"

"I know, save your strength and stay aliiiiiiive!"

"NO!" Eliza screams. "Is he breathing? Is he going to survive this? Alexander did you know?"

"Mom," he says, dragging the attention away from Alex. "I'm so sorry for forgetting what you taught me."

"My son."

"We played piano..."

"I taught you piano..."

"You would put your hands on mine..."

"You changed the melody every time..."

"I would always change the line..."

"Shh, I know, I know..."

"I would always change the line..."

"I know, I know. Un, deux, trios, quarte, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf."

"Un, deux, trios, quarte, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf."

"Good. Un, deux, trios, quarte, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf."

"Un, deux, trios-"

"Sept, huit, neuf. Sept, huit-"

I watch as his ghost leaves his body. He floats up to me.

"Quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf," he finishes, resting a hand on his mother. He turns to me after a long silence.

"You were right. It doesn't hurt. Dying."

A/N

I broke myself just by writing this. But it's okay. As long as I drag y'all down with me. I mean...uh...ANYWAY-

Thanks for reading this. I love y'all. (I know it's getting pretty difficult to believe, but I do.)

-Asher