It was a cloudy day, the kind of day one would get after a blizzard. He neared the end of a sidewalk and was waiting for the light to turn green so he could cross the next street. He was coming home from his therapy session, listening to music as he also does. There isn't a moment he isn't listening to music except when he is writing it or playing it himself. The only thing he cared about is music, he devoted his entire life to it and would do anything just to listen to five more minutes of it. As he crossed the street he looked down at his phone to type in a few lyrics he wanted to expand on when he arrived home. He was working on a song and just as he finished writing the verse, "You can't be replaced, you don't know the feeling, everyone's your puppet that you hang from the ceiling" a crystal clear ambulance collided with his bony side. The ambulance couldn't stop because the person they were trying to save in the back of the ambulance would die so the sped away, simply using the window washer to clear the blood off of the windshield. Soon an ambulance of the opposite intentions came to rescue the teen boy.
Later in the bright and sterile room, the boy got his final visitor before he left the sterile room and the dirty earth before he died. The final visitor was his father, maybe his father would've been accompanied by his mother but she died when he was young.
"Dad" The boy croaked, there was no verbal response from his father, only a hand covering his mouth and tears streaming down his eyes. Finally, the father of the victim responded,
"this shouldn't have happen-" his son cut him off.
"Dad will you do something for me"
"Anything"
"My music, publish my music. I backed up my phone onto the computer in the basement of our house, I have forty-one songs I've written. It's complete with lyrics, drum parts, guitar parts, and piano parts."
"I have no musical experience though" His father replied, full of guilt.
"Find somebody that can" he coughed violently, "please." That was it, the boy was destined to be a musical profit had he just a little more time. Now he lay in silence, something that should never be associated with him.
