By the third kick the locked handle busts and the door swings open slamming against the wall and all I meet is darkness, empty bottles and silence. On the dining table in the front room close to the stair case is an envelope. It's so neatly creased and perfectly in place as if two steady feathers pinched together placed it there. I stare at it, my heart thudding with every slow breath and my head spinning with a buzz of panic in my ears. I open the letter that says my name "Ian" in pretty letters on it. I don't want to ruin it, I quickly with unsteady hands open the letter and read the last words of this boy I love. The words that sting me to the bone and the moment I realize what he has done to himself I see it in the corner of my eyes. The silhouette, I drop the letter unable to speak and the pressure of a dam behind my eyes. I turn to see a pair of dress shoes weakly hung over the edge of the staircase. I walk closer to find legs, a chest and my love's face lifeless and hung. I run up the stairs and pull him up by the rope which was most likely not a good idea. I place him on the ground and hold his head up and I feel my body give, the rain poured and several drops land on his cheek as I hold his dead body against me. I cry into the suburban abyss of his house. Sobs fill every inch of the house until he's pried away from my arms and I'm left there to cry.
YOU ARE READING
Trains and Torn Cloth
Ficción GeneralAfter his boyfriend kills himself Ian at the age of 19 disappears off the grid. He finds self destruction and who and what he wants to be in the process.
