Ghost - Phan (#Wattys2016)

Chapter 7 - Blackness

Dan's POV

He made it home and threw the blazer of his tux on the floor. He pulled his shirt up from his pants, ruining his neatness. He uncapped the spray paint and shook it. I watched in horror as he began to spray anything with colour.

Phil, a blank, emotionless look on his face, sprayed random and uneven lines all over the walls of our home. He sprayed over our shelf, the one containing all our nicknacks, pictures, books and miscellaneous items. The cover of TABINOF, the " &" sign from our publishers, polaroids of us and more were all covered in black, messy paint. He moved to the kitchen, dragging the line of black all around with him, and ruined the cabinets and walls. He didn't do much damage there, and saved the paint for his room. I ran to follow him, and I watched Phil as he blackened the walls and personal objects. The spray began to hiss and stopped. He shook it and wasn't able to get out any more; it was empty. The can weakly fell from his hand.

Phil stayed in his room and stepped in circles, staring at the mess he'd created. His shoulders collapsed and slumped over. His hands and arms were loose. I stood at the doorway, frozen, waiting to see what he would do. His stiff, robotic face didn't change as he tore his dress shirt off and undid the belt around his slacks, and finished by kicking off his shoes. His body was sweating.

Phil dropped to his knees, then to lay in the middle of the room on the floor in a sidewards fetal position. He didn't move. He fell asleep, quiet and emotionless tears lightly spilling from his eyes. When he was settled, I sat with my legs crossed beside him, calmly petting his hair down.

"Oh, Phil...." I stood up and grabbed Lion off his bed. I placed it within his arms and kissed his head. "Please," I begged. "Just.... please."

I stood up and left his room to examine the rest of the house. I went into the lounge – the place most heavily destroyed by the spray paint. Everything we had done together, everything that symbolized our happiness, was covered in blackness. Everything, alongside myself and the very happiness of the one I loved with my existence, was dead.

Slowly with my fingers trembling, I grabbed our book off the shelf. I ran my fingers over the surface, slightly smudging the still-wet paint. Both of our faces on the book were blocked out, along with the entire title. The only thing to be seen was the small print on the bottom – "The World of Dan and Phil." I hugged it to my chest.

What happened when I died?

When I originally woke up for the first time from death, I had a headache and no memory of it. I shut my eyes. Memory flooded me. I saw it all.

I was conscious. There was a bus, and a box of chocolates in my hand. Phil was at home on his laptop, waiting for me. I looked to my left, and the bus was closer. It was speeding, and it swerved and crashed. I was caught in the damage. My body became disfigured. Someone called 999 and rushed me to the hospital. I was still conscious. It was late at night by now, and when they tried to call the first contact in my phone, Phil of course, he didn't pick up. The next day came and Phil rushed in. I was still conscious. I wasn't asleep like they thought I was – I was just in pain. I heard Phil bang on the glass separating us.

"Dan!" he had yelled. "Dan, no! Please!"

They took him away for a while to cool off.

He returned. He cried. I listened. I could feel him take my hand, since they finally let him in the room with me. His grip tightened as beeping sounds from machines all around me sped up. I felt myself slipping away from him, though his hand was so tight on mine. I heard him scream at me to not go, and that he loved me. His words choked on tears and sobs, but they faded slowly, until finally, I could no longer feel his grip on me. His voice drowned out. My vision was out. I couldn't move. I lost all the physical weight I possessed, like I was floating. Dead silence corrupted me.

It was like a purgatory – not life nor death, not existence nor demolition. Just quiet. Just peace. I couldn't see or hear or feel. Am I dead? I remembered thinking. Then, in what felt like moments, (but turned out to be nearly a week), I fell. My head burned with pain. I woke up.

He stayed with me to my final breath. I died. Then I woke up.

I remembered everything.

And now things were black. Things were dead. I was dead, but Phil was not. Dying didn't hurt as much as it did seeing him in pain, crying endlessly and doing things without thinking.

My eyes opened in a cold shock, the flashback over. I was still hugging TABINOF. I opened the book. The cover was damaged; the paint had dried. Yet the insides were still filled with our stories and our bright colours of everything we represented. I flipped to the inside of the hard front cover. I had to give him some sign that it would be okay. I felt around, until I touched my back pocket – the pen!

Blue ink. I began to scribble in the corner to be sure that it worked, and it did, but only faintly. I quickly wrote in the center of the inside. I added the date first, just to be sure that, when he saw it, he would know that I hadn't done this before I died.

I love you, Phil. Please know that. I'm still here somehow, and I love you. Seeing you in so much pain is horrifying. Please take care of yourse-

I ran out of ink. Great. I scribbled to try and revive it, but with no luck. I instead used my fingernail to scratch a dash and a "D" into the cover. I was unable to do the other letters of my name to sign it off properly.

I closed the book and left it on the sofa for him when he woke up. Maybe he would be okay then, I hoped.