𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 ♥︎

𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

** TRIGGER WARNING ** - mentions of gore, bad mental health, and thoughts of sewerslide. you've been warned!

this may not make any sense it's mainly just thrown together. but actually how did i write this.

crazy..

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That crimson red jacket that usually was worn by him

Wraps around my upper body as a source of protection, better yet a reminder.

Being reminded of him always makes me feel better about everything. And all the good things he's done to me. Even though that he's no longer here to know about my constant agony.

His soul will never roam this place again, but his spirit lurks around me at every moment.

"He's dead, Zander," they told me.

Maybe in reality, but in my mind, and my horrid nightmares, he's here with me. In this bedroom. Like we always were.

The last day that I saw Luke Peterson was May twenty-ninth. Ten days after he had turned eighteen. And I forever will be able to describe that last night together in descriptive detail.

That was the last evening we spent alone. Just us. Nothing or nobody separating our embrace of each other. His left hand held my body close, the opposite in my hair. We fell asleep that way.

The words he spoke to me were sappy, as per usual, but some of the things he said will always bring tears to my eyes.

"You're so pretty, Zander."

"I'd never be able to see what my life would be like if you weren't in it."

"I love you, so much. And i'll say it again and again."

And I know he would.

Luke Peterson possibly wouldn't forgive me for the things i've thought about after he left me. When he left me to be put in a coffin and never see the light of day again. Without him, my life is meaningless. Nothing. Whenever i'd think of my future, he'd be in every part of it. And now I have no idea on what to do. What is a future without him?

Every time I drive somewhere, I think of him. What if it was me next? What if some sick luck was pushed upon us where a vehicle brutally ended his life and I would soon be gone in the same way?

Sometimes I picture what it was like when he was killed. The police car and ambulance lights bringing visibility to his damaged features. He'd have glass all around him and his blood would be coated all over him. And his eyes. Those golden eyes of his. They'd still be open. They'd still have that glimmer that made me feel unreal. But nothing else would be there. Every part of him would be dead except for the brightness of his eyes.

Maybe what if that does happen to me?

I'd be wearing one of his jackets, black trousers, and converses. The night sky would be dark and cloudy, like they've always been since he's been gone. I'd take my car and drive down streets where nobody goes, blasting his favorite bands and tears falling down my face. My vision would get blurry from my constant crying and I wouldn't do anything about it. The car would swerve, crashing into a ditch alongside the road.

And my body would be dead too. And my blood would cover me and his jacket. But my eyes would still be opened. And maybe they'd glimmer, like he told me they did.

I'd be gone too. Like i'd thought to myself about.

I just hope you forgive me for this, Luke Peterson. Because I know you'd be repeatedly apologizing for causing me to feel this way.

And i'd forgive you every time.

- Alexzander James Wickham

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614 words

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