He took the midnight train

Chapter 2

It's been 2 weeks. 14 days. 336 hours since I have seen my best friend.

It's been 4 weeks and 3 days. 31 days. 744 hours since I have seen my best friend alive.

Where did this all go wrong? I find myself wondering this daily. Sometimes I find myself so distant from what is going on around me that I begin to think that I am headed down that same road. The road that slowly and quietly killed him.

I thought I saw him yesterday. I did, but not the way I want to see him. I see his face on all the papers at every news stand, in every store, in every city I go to try and escape. Yesterday, though, I thought I saw him walking down the street. For just a minute, I had forgotten the events of the past month and I called out to him.

"Hey Louis!" I yelled with excitement evident in my voice, the way it always had been when I saw one of my best mates.

He didn't turn around.

I kept shouting "Louis! Louis!" but he didn't come.

In that moment I remembered. I remembered why I will never again see him walking down the street. I remembered why he won't turn around when I call out to him. I remembered that he is dead.

Every morning since that day, I wake up and just for a moment, I forget. It takes me a moment, but then it all comes back to me. It hits hard and it feels as if I just received the news for the first time. It feels like I am running out of the church with no words left to say. It feels like I'm watching him being lowered into the ground, never to be seen again. It feels like apart of me has died.

I haven't seen the others since that day either. The other boys of One Direction. That pathetic band that is no longer in existence. If it weren't for that band, he would still be here. Because of that band, he missed the one thing he had been looking forward to for nine months.