Milk Boy {l.s.}

seven.

The next morning no person went outside to sit down on their second step and light a cigarette. No boy went out and waited for another boy to walk down the street, heading to the grocery store to get milk.

The boy who should have been sitting on the steps wasn't there to think about things and the milk boy and why he looked so worn every day, as if he was done with life. The milk boy should have been walking down the sidewalk, always wishing the boy on the steps would say something to him, and end up upset when he didn't say anything. He should have went down the hill to get milk and then come back up the hill, then wish again.

But instead the boy on the steps was reading the paper and saw that a boy had commited suicide. It was milk boy. He visited the boys grave about a month after his death and put a daisy that he had found on the way on top of the stone.

His grave was empty, even after all that time, no one was there to love him. He squatted down and stared at the headstone. If no one was there to love him, then why was he buried? There would be no person to visit his rotting body, so what was the point? 

Somewhere in the back of Harry's mind he knew that the boy would end up taking his life. It just never became something he thought about. And the death of this boy was pretty tragic, but at least he didn't have to suffer any longer. And that was a stupid thought. Of course they'd still be suffering, you just wouldn't see it happening. 

He decided to visit milk boy's grave every day and smoke a cigarette or two before heading back home. It was the least he could do. 

Harry got up and headed back home.