The End → f.s

cliffo.

My best friend's body founded beside a trash can. A TRASHCAN! HE'S MY FUCKING BEST FRIEND!
With a girl. They have hole on their head and the fugitive is Calum!

My bestest friend. I've known him for almost 11 years. 11 YEARS!

Fuck band. Fuck world.

My parents don't care with me although they still provide me home, food and all of shits. But no they barely home everyday.

Oh yeah I'm forgot I'm their weight. Of course.

Ever since Calum's dead, I trashed all my video games and cry a lot. I don't know what else to do because I am the biggest failure.

Usually I just locked myself up in my hell hole called room but now I'm wandering in a bookstore.

And I don't even read.

My shoulder brushes to peoples' all the way through the store but I don't bother to say I'm sorry. Whilst I know they are looking at me disgustedly.

Who doesn't know Michael Clifford from a band that consisted an insane lead singer, one dead bassist, a i-don't-even-know-where-that-fucktard-is drummer and me the guitarist who doesn't take a bathe for almost a week.

I stared at all the book blankly. Why peoples want to waste money to these useless things.

"Sorry umm.. You're blocking the way" a gentle voice snapped me out of my mind.

I searched for that source and finding a dark brown haired girl. She looks at me carelessly.

"Ah yeah sorry" I mumbled as I stepped back giving her the way.

"No it's fine actually" she smiles. "Take your time"

I didn't even bother to ask what did she mean. I know.

She smells like rain. Maybe it's creepy and for fuck sakes I'm not Luke, but she is smells like rain and that surprisedly calms my nerves.

"You're Michael right?" the girl asked me while she was reading a unwrapped book.

I stayed quiet.

"I'm Netherland Posh"

I don't want to know your name.

"It's okay I'm not a bad guy" she said again.

No of course you're not

"Seriously I can know you're saying sarcasms on your head right now" she told me. "It's okay though"

No I won't get into trouble with this girl.

So I left her.