sparks

29 - London

Dream

Sweet, settled silence buzzes along with the humming coming from the private planes engine, the strong sky now being all that I'm able to see from the window.

Sapnap and Quackity couldn't come. I was devastated when we found out. I wanted them here, but the two of them have too many absences to be allowed miss classes again, and so they were held back.

I woke George this morning, at around seven thirty, so he could finish packing and so we could make this jet on time.

Yeah.

The jet.

I feel like James Bond.

George passed out the first few minutes into the flight, on the chair opposite from me, his head now slumped slightly across his own shoulder as he snores away lightly.

The past few days leading up to today have been hectic. Well, I say hectic, but they've really just been so deaf and depressing that the tiredness I've gained makes me think that its been hectic. Though it really hasn't been.

George hasn't been able to do too much. Sure, he's trying to get on, and act like he's not that bad, but its clear to see that he's not dealing with any of this particularly well.

Sometimes he'll have a good hour or two, and he'll forget all about his mom, and it'll be like it was before he got the news.

Yet then it all seems to come back to him, and then that look comes back.

The look of despair, the look of absolute and utter desperation to leave the world around him. He tries to hide it, but he's never been a good liar.

He hasn't gone to school at all this week, and I mean, can you blame him?

Whenever I run to see him between classes he's always at his desk writing down arrangements, or having spitty phone calls down in the schools office.

Or sometimes he'll just sleep. He'll sleep, and sleep, and sleep the day away and then he'll wake at around four in the afternoon, just to pass out again at nine at night.

Even after these sixteen hour naps, he still looks tired. He still looks like he hasn't slept in about a week, and I've begun to wonder how long its going to take for all of this to make him buckle and snap.

He hasn't had another breakdown, or cried again since he told me, and that's beginning to scare me.

I have a feeling everything's going to come tumbling out soon enough, in the worst possible place, at the worst possible time.

The funeral is Saturday afternoon, which is tomorrow. There'll be a party afterwards in a rented out country house, a big one.

'It's one of Franks friends houses, he owns a string of very rich hotels all across Europe' George had told me one evening, after he'd been told this news.

This was one of his good hours.

Not much has happened, in simpler words. It's been a dull few days. I don't think its really even settled in that she's gone yet. I can hardly believe any of this. All of it is just so surreal to me.

Now I'm sitting in a jet, flying to London for a funeral for a woman who I never even got to know all that well. I feel like a fraud.

Though I would've liked to have gotten to know her, so that makes me feel a little better.

At least the jet is quiet. Maybe I'll be able to catch a few hours sleep before we land. I have a feeling that the next few days are going to be busy. Very, very busy.