seven days * short story

tonight.

the car turns off, but the radio still keeps playing.

pete sat and stared into the thin, web-like crack in the sidewalk outside the best buy parking lot, inside it endless possibilities. his hands are shaking. he pops open the compartment containing his last bottle of ativan.

"and now, a fan requested classic! everyone's heard this by now. enjoy"

this is it. he shakes it once, the white pills rattling in a mesmerising way. the feburary chill just now settling in his bones. he sat there, taking it all in for god knows how long.

baby, i've been here before. i've seen this room and i walked this floor y'know i used to live alone before i knew you.

down went a capsule. and another. and another, and another and another until the whole fucking thing was just as empty as he felt. he swallowed it dry.

pete can't stop crying.

love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.

he leans his head on his wheel and takes deep breaths. this is it. he is dying. after all this time planning and thinking about it late at night, this was it.

there was a time when you let me know, what was really going on below but know you never really show that, do ya?

he thought of his mom. he thought of his dog. he thought of patrick. the radio is all staticy and buckely's voice fazed slightly. patrick could sing about fucking hallelujahs better than some jeff.

remember when i moved in you?

in the spur of the moment, pete dug out his phone and dialed his manager although it took a few tries. four rings and he answered

and the holy dove was moving too?

"h- hello? pete. it's three in the morning, what would you want?"

"could you- could you get patrick to sing this song at my funeral?" his words were slurred and slowed, and pete could barely keep his eyes open anymore. he still couldn't stop crying

a sigh on the other line.

"pete you're not actually-" more quiet, "pete? pete? oh my go- where are you?""

"best buy across the street from the, from the fuckin ford city. i- i"

more crying.

every breath we drew was hallelujah.

"i don't wanna die anymore, plea- i don't wanna die. i don't wanna die"

pete didn't notice the phone slipping out of his hand. he didn't notice his mom reaching in from the crack of the window, desperately trying to unlock the car. he didn't notice being pushed over to the passenger's seat. he didn't hear any of the crying. he slowly slipped into the unconscious.