My Short Stories

"It's Late"

"Hey."

"Hey." Her voice was light. Eyes squinted nearly shit as she rolled over on the bed and looked at the clock. It was three in the morning. She pressed the phone closer to her ear and pulled the covers just over her chin. "It's late."

"I know," he replied softly.

She couldn't help but notice his voice sounded sad. Closing her eyes whilst lazily holding on to her phone, she continued. "What's wrong?"

Hesitation. "I've been restless the last few nights." His voice, in comparison to hers, was not tired. He lay staring up at the ceiling with his own sheets half dropped over him. His bare chest heaved up and down with every breath. The phone was to his left ear, supported by a pillow. His hands were to his sides. "I was wondering..." He continued softly, then paused and gulped. "No, forget it."

"Tell me..." She trailed off, curious, but tired.

He blinked. "Want to hear a story?"

She huffed softly but, now too awake to go immediately back to sleep, she nodded to herself. "I mean, sure."

He blinked again. "Okay. Ready?"

"Ready."

"One day a boy was told that he had seven days to live, and on the dawn of the eighth day the boy was going to die. And he was told that for those seven days he could do whatever he wanted to without having to worry about the consequences. Do you... Do you understand?"

She nodded. "He could rob a bank and not be arrested?"

"Yes. Yes," he murmured softly so that she wouldn't be bothered by his voice. "Exactly. So imagine this boy could do anything he ever wanted, but that first day he was overcome with terrible grief and sorrow. His life was coming to an end, and even though he knew he could do whatever he wanted, he found no way to see happiness."

"Sad," she commented.

"The second day he came to terms with himself and decided he had to make the most out of life but... Could not think of much. He never had much in life, and what little he had before he had lost. It was... Sad. But the boy eventually thought of something he could do... No. It was something that he needed to do. You see, there was this girl. A very pretty girl, and he had done her wrong. He wanted to build up the courage to ask for forgiveness. You see, that's how he spent his seven days. Trying to find forgiveness."

"What did he...? Do?"

"Something very bad." He paused and gulped and continued. "On the seventh day the boy actually called her. She was asleep, you see? Well, he called her and he broke down. He begged. Sobbed. The girl he called said he didn't have to do anything. Hey... You there?"

All he got in response was a soft snore. He smiled, aware she had fallen into a deep sleep, and continued.

"She said 'you're late.' And the boy smiled. She said she'd miss him, and the boy cried. And the next morning the boy didn't wake up." He paused and looked at the time. "Sorry... I know it's a stupid little story. I guess I don't know where I was going with it."

He sat up a little. "Don't worry about me. Don't worry about what I end up doing. In your eyes I was happy, and that's what matters, right? It's a shame you fell asleep becau-"

"I'm here," she interrupted suddenly. "And it was a lovely story."

"Thank you."

"What's wrong?"

He smiled. "I'm fine. Nothing is wrong. Just a little restless is all."

"But," she clutched her phone a little more tightly, "you're always restless."

"I know." He knew. "It's nothing to be worried about. Go to sleep. It's late."

She huffed. "You need to sleep too."

He began to trail soft lines on the ceiling.

"Hey? Answer me."

"I'm here," he replied.

"Listen to me. I'm going to sleep but, I won't hang up. The phone will be on my ear. If you want to talk, then talk into the phone. I'll be listening."

He nodded. "I know. Thank you."