YouTube One-Shots (Book 3)

He's Gone

Tumblr prompt: "[Name] is gone. [Name] is gone. [Name] is gone."

Note: This is pretty angsty. I hope you enjoy it though!

Pairing: Krii7y

Everything was fine at first.

Everything.

Was.

Fine.

But then it happened.

If you asked John what "it" was, he couldn't tell you. He couldn't describe it, couldn't name it, nothing.

But there was something that he did remember.

And oh, how he so wished he could forget it.

The only, little tidbit he could remember was from the very end. And god, it was awful.

Blood. That's what John remembered. He remembered it splattered all over the ground, the wall, himself and - fuck, he didn't want to remember this. Out of all the things he could have remembered, why did he remember the worst fucking part of it?

He remembered screaming. Whether it was his own or someone else's, he couldn't tell.

He remembered hot tears running down his face. John remembers looking in horror at the art his own tears decided to make. Red flowers bloomed against the white canvas, and John wanted nothing more than to just fucking burn it to the ground. The worst part about the piece was that the flowers were roses; red roses. John hated red roses. They symbolized love, something he'd never have.

He remembered feeling sick to his stomach. He wanted to puke. But he just couldn't. He heaved and heaved off to the side, but nothing came out. His eyes were beginning to sting.

Even now he still waited for the bile to rise up from his throat and spill all over fucking everything.

John can still remember his own voice, repeating one phrase over and over again without stop. He couldn't say anything else. His mind had one thought, and his mouth repeated that thought. He hated hearing it from his own mouth; he didn't want to hear it, especially not from himself. But that's all that came out, and that's all he could manage to say. Just three words that were the end of John's world:

"Smitty is gone. Smitty is gone. Smitty is gone."

John remembers rocking back and forth as he said those words. His eyes were wide and refused to blink. He couldn't look away.

He couldn't hear the people around him, trying to talk to him, trying to get an answer from him. Their attempts would be futile anyways; John had absolutely no fucking clue what had happened. Sometimes he wish he did know, other times he didn't. He wanted so bad to finally understand what had happened that day, but he also wanted to never think of it ever again.

It didn't help that people still came over to see how he was doing. It just made him even more depressed. In all honesty, he just wanted to curl up in a ball and never speak again. Well, he was almost halfway there; he refuses to speak to most of the people that come over, shaking his head when they ask if they could speak to them. God, he was just so tired. He wanted all of this to be over. He wanted to get away from everything, to never think of it again.

He choked out a sob whenever he thought about it. If only he could have done something different.

If only Smitty was still there.