The sunlight is kissing my eyelids as I lie, suspended between reality and dreams, between sadness and joy, between life and death... my body is filled with a feeling of pure, untainted bliss. I feel as if my very essence is on the brink of utter harmony with the world. If I die now, I will be happy.
The heavy presence on my chest suddenly moves and I look down, my face splitting into a grin.
"'Ello," Kennedy mumbles, his fingers lightly caressing my chest.
Suddenly he groans, burrowing his head between my neck and the slope of my shoulder.
"Everything hurts," he mutters, his words squashed by my skin.
His head flicks up to mine and he smiles, his lips pushing forward onto mine with a gentle grace.
"That was the best... the best whatever-it-was of my life," he whispers.
I giggle, shivering slightly though I don't feel the cold.
He misinterprets my movements though, and brings himself close to me, rubbing his soft hair against my chest. Hair... I look to my left, where the desk ends abruptly, tasselled sickeningly with strands of hair.
"Kennedy..." my voice is shaking. "Kennedy, my hair..."
His hazel eyes drop down to the desk. "Oh, Matt..." his arms slide around me as he sits up, and suddenly I can't hold it back. The tears slide down my cheeks with little consideration for my face or his chest. "I'm so sorry, it was my fault," he says.
"What... what do you mean?"
"I sort of pulled a bit too hard..." he admits sheepishly.
I take his hand and pull it towards my head.
"Pull some more," I instruct him.
"No, John... don't make me pull your fucking hair out."
He wrenches his hand away, scowling at me.
"Fine, I'll do it myself," I whisper, a tear sliding down my cheek. "It's going to come out anyway."
"Don't... John, please, don't... no..." He takes my hand gently, pushing me up into a sitting position. His hand slowly runs through my hair. "Bye," he whispers, taking a strand and tugging, tears coursing down his own cheeks. "This is horrible," he says, collecting a little more hair.
It doesn't hurt... not in the physical way.
The sound of his sobs bouncing back into my ears throughout the bookshop, is enough to make me cry too. "John, I can't do this any more," he whispers after fifteen minutes of slow but steady pulling. "I'm so sorry..."
YOU ARE READING
Time To Go
FanfictionConceived. Carried. Born. Nursed. Grown. Taught. Given. Taken. Dead. John O'Callaghan knows he is going to die. He even calculated the seconds it is until he breathes his last breath. But what he can't quite get his head around is the way that stran...
