Elysium (RusAme)

Elysium

Timing is everything. Timing is everything, from the ticking of the clock to the swiftness of one's reflexes. If you don't say the right thing at the right time, everything can go haywire. If you don't do the right thing at the right time, you might not have another chance. This isn't to be morbid. This is a fact. In this world, there are so many times you're given so many second chances. Unfortunately for him, this wasn't one of them. But, oh, Lord, does he wish it were. I'm sorry.

I took him in at 19:23. I only remember it distinctly from the shattered screen of his phone, just inches away from his delicate, unmoving hand. As per usual, the date escapes me. Everything other than that was a vivid scene. It always is. Considering how often I see a scene like this, it's not surprising that I forgot the day. But I never forget a face. I never forgot the pink dusk of the setting sun, complementing his sand blonde hair, stained crimson with blood. Once gleaming amethyst eyes, now dull and lifeless. I won't forget the way he knelt down beside his head, bawling his eyes out, tears diluting the brutal red streaks across his pale face, or how he kept punching the ground with all his might, because maybe, God would feel the earth shake as he pleaded for him to come back, oh God, please come back. He kept screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming, only to be drowned out by the sound of car alarms and a violent ringing in his ears.

When he saw me, he held no fear in his eyes. Only despair. I approached him slowly, outstretching my hand as though saying, "Come." He only stared with sad eyes. He knew who I was and rather than backing away as they usually do, he spoke to me, his voice trembling with anguish.

"This isn't fair," he whispered. "It's not enough time. I can't just leave him alone like this." His voice kept breaking, but he was determined to see his message through. "I don't want to see him like this. Please. Please"

"Okay," I lied through my teeth. I'm sorry.