John Mitchell for ella

cry pls

"Ella, what are you doing?" George examined my face as I slid my finger across the wooden shelf. My mind raced from his question. What was I doing?

"Mitchell comes home today," I reply, brushing off the dust that had gotten caught on my finger.

George raised his eyebrows, looking around the room. The room Mitchell once slept in, safe from the rest of the world.

George turned away, unable to reply to the answer I gave him. Instead, he shuffled towards Nina's room. After a few seconds, I heard Nina shout in excitement. Her feet tapped against the floors as she ran towards Mitchell's room, which I stood in awkwardly.

"Mitchell comes home today!" She shouted. I nodded, feeling more uncomfortable than when George had entered the room.

The rest of the day was spent cleaning and preparing for Mitchell to return.

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The door flew open, whistling with anger and confusion. Mitchell stood in front of our eyes, sweat dripping down his face. His eyebrows were furrowed inwards, his eyes filled with hatred.

"Kill me," The words slipped out of his mouth and rang in my ears. His hand slipped into his jacket, pulling out a small black knife. It's handle fit perfectly into his hand, the one I used to hold.

But why was he doing this?

Nina raced out of the room, George following behind her. But I stayed, frozen in my place. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. I knew he was serious. I felt a shiver fall down my spine as he walked towards me, resting his hand against my cheek. A small tear fell from my eyes, dripping down my face and falling into his cold hands. His eyes watered horrifically.

"I don't want to die," He whispered to me, his voice cracking a bit. His tears were flowing down his face. I shook my head, unable to process what was happening.

"Sometimes," he sighed, his warm breath ran across my shoulders, the scent of strawberries radiating off his lips. "I wish I'd never been born at all."

"No," I repeated to myself, trying to convince myself that he'd somehow start laughing and tell me it was all a joke. I waited for him. But the time never came. Instead, he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close to his chest. I inhaled the scent of his jacket, it smelled of his favorite cologne. He always wore that one. I used to complain about the stench, but now I wanted nothing more than to smell it forever.

"Ella," He whispered again in my ear. I cried at the sound of his voice, the way my name rolled so beautifully off his tongue.

I waited for him to finish his sentence, but he didn't. Instead, he pulled me towards his face, pressing his soft lips against mine. He tasted like something sweet. I smiled and wiped tears from his face which had been drenched in sweat and tears. His hand brushed against mine, slipping the knife into my sweaty fingers.

"I want you to do it," He mumbled, pulling me away from him. George and Nina were standing behind the couch, clutching onto each other and crying uncontrollably.

"Just do it!" Nina yelled impatiently, unable to hold on any longer.

I shook my head again, tears rushing down my face.

"Ella," Mitchell's calming voice called for me, "I'm already gone."

With that, I plunged the knife into his chest, his beating heart now weak. He gasped as he looked down at his chest. My heart dropped as I saw his painful smile. I held him in my arms as he faded to nothing.

Nina gasped for air as she cried. I reached out for Mitchell, trying to grab any piece of him I could get, but he constantly kept slipping through my fingers.

"The moon sure is beautiful, isn't it?" I whispered to nothing, the faded pieces of Mitchell had now disappeared. "I wish I could've seen it with you."

I smiled at my hands, knowing he was loved. Even if the rest of the world was against him, I'd always be by his side. I brushed my hand against my cheek, the way Mitchell would when I cried in front of him.

"Five more minutes," I begged to the sky, waiting for Mitchell to hug me once more. But the sky was blank. It didn't hug me or kiss me, it didn't smell like awful cologne or taste like strawberries. It wasn't Mitchell. It was just the sky.