The Perfect Plan for a Brotherly Ending

Wilbur has failed yet another job interview. He has nothing under his belt. He only knows how to play the guitar hanging off his back. His parents kicked him out as soon as they could. Not that they bothered loving him during his childhood in the first place. It happened a month ago after he finished high school. Although he didn't love his parents it still hurt to think about. They were supposed to love him unconditionally, cry if he had to leave, and care if he got hurt. But that 'supposed to', never happened. That's the tragedy. And considering all his friends left him to live their own lives as adults telling him to suck it up, and he has no siblings, he has no one to lean on.

Which is why he doesn't care so much that he's drenched in rain, that has been pouring non stop all day, all the way into the night. Wilbur walks in the streets bathed in colored lights from billboards, shops, and apartment lights. It's like the city never sleeps, just like him. He can close his eyes but the lights still shine through his eyes and his body never heals from his aches.

Wilbur stands at a four way street waiting for the walk sign to tell him it's his turn to walk. The walk sign turns white, he begins his way across the street, when he makes it to the other side he almost goes past an alleyway. Something grabs him from the dark place and pulls him into the black. The dark figure slams him against the wall and thrusts a knife right in his stomach before Wilbur can even think. He crumbles to the ground, a puddle of blood already pooling beneath him. He can't find it in himself to shout for help. All it would do is get him into hospital debt, he can't even get a job to pay it off. The man searches Wilbur's body for money, when he doesn't Wilbur speaks.

"I'm homeless you p-" Before he can finish the man kicks him right where he stabbed him. Wilbur screams and his vision goes completely white for a moment. It dims and now black dots swim in his sight. The man takes his guitar and runs for it. Petty, Wilbur thinks. His whole body burns and everything mixes together. His life flashes before his eyes and it is mournful. At least it's over. He can finally rest. It won't hurt when no one looks for him and doesn't know he's even dead in the first place. He won't even be alive to care. Bloods come out of his mouth, everything stiffens, and his body soaks up the cold. The cold from the rain, the concrete, the air, even his own heart. He doesn't like the way it suits him. Then again it could have been someone else putting it on him. Either way, he wishes it was different. Sure he wants to be loved but not by the people he knows. He wishes he was better. He wants that kind of difference. His eyes grow heavy and no matter how much he tries to pry them open to see the city lights just outside the alley, he can't. They flutter shut and everything is numb.

"I'll take yours if you take mine." A voice says, sounds exactly like himself but it's twisted. It's darker. It's not his. When the voice speaks Wilbur can feel his body floating, no pain, just there, in the dark. He's conscious in some sleepy way, but nothing is around him, and he will not open his eyes to look.

"What do you mean?" Wilbur thinks but it echoes as if he said it out loud.

"If you take my life, then I'll take yours. Let's switch lives, let's switch worlds." It's then that Wilbur also notices the person's voice is younger than his own.

"I literally just died, if you go into my body you'll die too."

"I'm willing to take that chance."

"Did you get stabbed too or-like-how did you get here?"

"..."

"You got stabbed too."

"Yeah, yeah, but we might live."

"Alright, I suppose it doesn't matter either way." Wilbur sighs and he begins to feel something again. His body aches and burns the same way, in the same place. He feels like he's been tricked but like he said. It doesn't matter either way. His eyes open and everything is blurry and his head is light. Someone is at his side, they hold up his head, and pour cool water down his hoarse throat. "Thank you," he manages to say before coughing.