It Wasnt My Fault (DNF)

Part 1: Chapter 3

George pov

I was at school.

I couldnt get my mind off of Clay, and I could tell my brother noticed.

I continued to glare at everyone I encountered, unable to stop myself.

Walking through the halls, I pulled my hood up over my brown hair, ignoring the ghost that walked beside me, a warm hand on my shoulder.

No one dared approach me, but I wished they would.

The fact that I was quiet didnt mean that I didnt want someone to talk to.

My introverted personality didnt excuse my longing for a friend.

I sit down on a bench outside, Ken walking around the trees lining the lawn peacefully, his hands in the pockets of the hoodie he died with.

I ignore him like I usually do, pulling out my phone and staring at the one contact on it.

Dream

I wanted to text him, but I didnt want to seem like I was trying to hard.

I didnt want to come off as awkward like the fucked up person I am.

I knew that my best bet was to just be myself, but I hadn't had a friend in years, and I wasn't able to read people's gestures very well.

I scoff to myself.

Pathetic.

If I wasn't able to talk to Clay, I wouldn't have a friend.

But I'd survived this long without one this long, I would be fine.

I don't need anything other than my usual routine to pass the time.

I didnt need anyone.

I'd make it by alone.

I had been on my own all this time.

Ken came and sat beside me, his wispy figure blowing and obscuring in the wind elegantly.

"You know I can't read your mind?" he says, his voice as echoey as ever.

"I know." I say. "I wouldn't want you to be able to."

"Oh, believe me, neither would I. However, I would like to know what you're thinking at times. I know I'm not really there, but I can still talk to you. And listen. So spill, dumbarse."

I look back at my phone as it shuts itself off in the time of my indescisiveness.

"No, I don't think I will." I say, deciding to be stubborn.

There's silence between us as we listen to the wind and watch the leaves fall off of the trees.

"You should call him." Ken says out of nowhere, his red-brown hair forever blowing, into the ghost of his eyes and over his forehead.

I wished it would stop blowing for a few minutes so that we could sit in silence like we used to, still and content that we were together.

I didnt have that anymore.

I didnt have anything.

"I would rather not." I say. "Besides, that's the least of my worries."

"It should be your priority, actually." he says, responding almost immediately.

"Why?" I ask, peering into his dead eyes, the eyes that were incapable of emotion.

"Because, he might not have much more time. Same with you, of course. Take the opportunity."