How He Died - Joshler One Shot

How He Died

The pen in my hand feels new and strange - I haven't wanted to talk about this for months, let alone write about it. I can barely remember any of it properly. I'm not sure if that's just because I don't want to, or just the fact that it was too painful. I'm not going to try to filter this, either. Any emotion that comes to my mind is being written on this paper - not that anyone will see it. 

Josh was the boy I met when I was simply fourteen. If I said that we instantly became best friends, I'd be lying. We had met at a bridge... We both thought we were coming to the end of our lives; thought we were about to jump. We didn't, of course. We each talked each other out of it. We both realise that we didn't want to die yet.  

After that, we didn't really see much of each other again - except in the hallways. However, just because we didn't see each other, doesn't mean that I didn't think about him a lot. I felt like I was falling hopelessly in love with someone that I wouldn't really ever talk to again - he was the boy taking over my mind...

I don't like that phrase, because I know he wasn't the only one trying to take that control of my mind. Have you ever had someone talk to you but no one was there? It's like they're whispering things to you - trying to gain your attention... Make you do things... 

Anyway, when Josh and I moved up to 10th grade, he was in more of my classes. One of my favourites was music, and that just so happened to be his, as well. I loved the way the piano keys could be pressed in different patterns and make those soft melodies that would put your mind at ease. It's one of those things that are so calming, it's confusing whether it discards mental illness or basically makes it worse. It's probably both, you know? It would make you feel better, but it's probably just tricking you as it feeds on your mind. You're its prey.

Josh and I had started to become extremely good friends after that. Every issue we had, we would always go to each other first - that's just how our friendship worked. I just wished that it could be more, but Josh clearly didn't... Each day that I spent with him was both incredible, but it was also extreme torture. 

I had started having blackouts, as well. The fact that I blacked out all the time wasn't the weird thing, though; the strange thing about it would be people's reactions afterwards. I would wake up in the nurse's office and my mother would be there. When she'd think I couldn't hear her, she would tell the nurse how she is scared of me when I black out - that I needed help. It wasn't so much the fact that she was scared, but more the fact that she was scared of me... Not for me. 

The voices had become stronger, too. Josh knew all about the blackouts and the voices. He probably knew more than me, having witnessed one of my blackouts. After he saw that, he did begin to gain a slight bit of fear around me. 

To be honest, the person who was most scared was probably me. The voices torment me. They tell me to do things I would seriously rather not do. 

For example, they told me to kill him...

I can barely breathe just writing this. The struggle to remember it is painful... Excruciating. 

We were hanging out in my house. Sitting there. I remember having a blackout. That's the last thing I remember, actually. Well, the last thing before...

I woke up, standing in front of Josh and holding a lit match and a bottle of alcohol... An empty bottle of alcohol. Josh was screaming at me to stop. To put the match down. I remember jumping and dropping the match on the floor. 

The fire hit the alcohol.

The fire hit the walls.

The fire hit everything. 

I killed him. 

I escaped, right? I remember climbing out the window...

No.

It was.

It was jammed. 

The door?

Jammed.

I can't remember how I got out.

Did I get out?

My breathing becomes heavy and difficult. Like there's smoke in my lungs. 

I can hear his piercing screams as the fire consumes him.

Am I waking up so I can die?

The pain starts consuming me - fire feeding on my flesh and lungs and murdering me. 

I can handle my own pain, but I can't handle his screams. I want him to survive, but I know it's too late for that. Can he at least die peacefully?

I attempt to wrap my arm around him, trying to stop the screaming, but he pushes me off.

"I... HATE... YOU..." He screams at me through violent coughs. I can feel him crying next to me. 

I can feel myself cry.

I can see his eyes close. 

The water starts gushing down my cheeks.

My body tries to make my breathing heavier. 

I feel smoke enter my lungs.

I feel nothing...