The voice (short story)

The voice

Nothing could have prepared them for what happened. If someone would have told them it would happen they wouldn't believe it. But it did, and it hurt them hard. But one black eyed Brit took it the hardest, and he'd never forget the look on that man's face as it happened. They were going on a trip, and he wished they hadn't.

"Your not gunna lay here all day are you old friend?"

He sighed, ignoring the man staring down at him.

"Why won't you talk to me anymore? We haven't even had a good argument anymore..."

With a groan he sat up, getting out of bed and stumbling over into his small kitchen, the blue wallpaper making the apartment look black with the blinds closed. Even though it was around one in the afternoon, it looked like it was midnight from inside the small apartment. Fumbling around for the fridges door handle, he opened the fridge. His black voids squinting to the sudden light from inside. When his eyes adjusted, he stared at the many bottles of cheep vodka filled fridge.

"Again?" The voice asked, "Thats the fifth today!"

He reached in and grabbed a bottle, pulling it out and opening it quickly, already starting to down the burning liquid.

"Your going to ruin your body."

Once the bottle was successfully finished off, the bottle was chucked to some spot in the apartment and he stumbled into his room again. He grabbed his black and white checkered coat, and started to head out of his apartment.

"Your going out now? Your drunk!!"

Once again ignoring the voice, he made his way towards the elevator down to the first floor, only to be stopped by a worried man that towered over him.

"Tom!! Your finally out of the apartment! Are you ok?" The green hooded male asked

Tom only grunted a response and shoved past him, heading to the elevator once more.

"Your going to see him aren't you?"

Tom froze, looking back at his friend.

"It's not your fault you know... none of us could have known that would have happened..." Edd spoke sadly

Tom looked at the ground, feeling tears well up in his eyes, a lump forming in his already tight and burning throat.

"Tom?" That damned voice

He turned on his heels sharply and stormed over to the elevator, finally making his way to his destination. He zipped up his jacket and stuffed his hands in the pockets, finally leaving that cursed apartment and walking down the street.

"Where are we going?" The voice asked

Tom grumbled something, trying to ignore that voice, that cursed voice. He hated it so much, but a large part of him desperately missed it, wanting to hear it again for as long as he was alive. Soon he reached a park, following the edge of the fence from the sidewalk with his eyes focused on the pathway ahead. Soon the fence turned to a stone wall, the family friendly park soon being cut off and replaced with a graveyard. Tom looked out at all the graves as he walked, a sad and longing sort of look spread across his face. Soon he stopped, in front of the front entrance to the graveyard, his mind wishing to enter but his feet were unmoving. Soon he finally was able to enter with a large breath in, trying to calm down the slightest bit. He hadn't been there since that day, and it was difficult for him.

"Tom...?"

He spotted the hill.

"Tom what's going on?"

He made his way towards it.

"Tom who is 'he'?"

He started to climb.

"Tom who died!?"

There it was. A beautiful cherry tree still in bloom, pink petals were scattered around the area. Soft green grass flowed steadily in the wind, peaceful and serine. Under the tree was a tombstone, someone's name engraved onto it.

"Stupid commie...." Tom murmured, kneeling in front of the grave and putting a hand on the top. "This is all my fault..."

The voice was silent.

"I wish we never went on that stupid trip. If we hadn't maybe...." Tom's voice cracked, "Maybe you'd still be here today.... I wouldn't be this sad sack of shit.... drinking myself to stop hearing your god damn voice...."

Tom paused, letting out a sharp breath as he wiped a few tears from his eyes.

"I shouldn't have pushed you around so much when we were younger.... I can't help but think that maybe you wouldn't have left all those years ago if we were better friends.... hell we were still basically best friends who just fought all the time for no reason.... god.... Tord...."

Tord stared at his friends now crumpled and shaking body in front of his own grave. It all made sense to him now, why Tom never looked at him when he tried to talk to him. He was already gone.

"IM SO FUCKING SORRY..!" Tom cried out, covering his face with his free hand

After a few minutes, Tom finally calmed down, taking a few shaky breaths, his forehead resting against the cool stone headstone.

"It's not your fault Tom..." Tord spoke softly, placing a hand on Tom's shoulder

The Brit tensed at the feeling, spinning his head around to face the person who touched him, only to find a faint image of Tord smiling down at him sadly, tears had clearly run down his own face. Tom's eyes widened as the tears came back, quicker then before. He stood quickly, Tords spirit disappearing in front of him. He looked back at the grave stone and smiled sadly.

"Goodbye old friend..."