DAVE: Say goodbye.
Your name is Dave Strider and you're dying. You don't mean that in some deep, metaphorical "we are dying everyday" way, you're literally dying with a sword sticking out of your torso and pinning you to the ground. Your best bro is next to you, collapsed on his knees, sobbing his eyes out.
"John," you manage to mumble weakly. The sword had missed vital organs, but you knew you were going to be dead in a minute. You are fighting off the darkness that was threatening to overwhelm you as it was, but you need to say something.
"Dave!" The raven haired boy sobbed, clutching your hand.
"Please, don't... cry," The words are clouded with blood and pain, but it looks like he understood them anyways. He sniffs and wipes his hand over his eyes.
"Dave there's got to be some way to make this better, you're god tier, this shouldn't happen!" he rambles.
"John, can I ask you..." you cough up blood.
"Anything," he says quickly, gripping your hand tighter.
"Smile... Please," you manage to cough out. He tries. The corners of his lips turn up, but his eyes shine with tears. You squeeze his hand. "Not what I meant," you mumble as you watch the tears fall. You lift your hand weakly in an attempt to pull your shades off. He sees and takes them off for you.
"Keep," your voice cracks and you can't hold on, black starts edging your vision, but you fight as long as you can, just long enough to whisper, "my Egderp."
The last thing You hear is your best friend and the love of your life break down in broken sobs.
JOHN: Try not to cry.
You try not to cry, but that lasts about .002 seconds as you hear Dave's broken last whisper.
JOHN: Cry a lot.
That, you can do.
"My Egderp," Dave whispers and you feel his hand go limp in yours.
"NO!" you scream, and you choke on the sobs that rack your body.
"NO! DAVE! DON'T GO!" you throw your arms around his body, and bury your head in his bloody chest. "Don't leave me," you beg someone who cannot answer. Flinging your glasses off, you slip Dave's shades on. You can't see basically anything, but that doesn't help. All there is is red. Red like Dave's eyes, except this isn't beautiful or mysterious at all, it's horrifying and unsettling because your best friend in the entire world is lying right there, unmoving in a pool of red with a sword in his stomach. All you want is for him to open those beautiful eyes, the only good red in this sea of death, and say, "gotcha!" then he'd pull the fake sword out and pull you to his chest, laughing. You'd say, "you asshole!" but you would curl up to him and laugh along.
That's not happening. This is real, he's really gone. There's nothing you can do about it. You curl up to his blood-soaked side, unable to care about how stained your clothes will be or how uncomfortable you are or anything other than Dave being dead, and fall asleep with the taste of blood and death and tears in your mouth.
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I'm sorry. I'm so sorry okay I just got bored and started writing in class and so this ended up being a thing that existed.
It's kind of poorly written, but give me a break, this is my first thingy on here. The weirdly spaced paragraphs and shit stem from the fact that I am writing this on my phone and currently do not have a computer nearby. Sorry about that.
Anyways, thank you so much for reading and I hope it wasn't so horrible that you had to screenshot it and send it to your friends as an example of how some people should not be writers! Seriously though, thanks.
-E
