12 a.m. short stories

Bright Lights | 24

*I changed my mind. This is the alternative, and the next chapter is the actual ending. Sue me. So you can either skip this and read the next one, or you can read both, or neither, or whatever. But this is it, this is the end, and that's that.

~*~ a month later.

Everything was falling apart. 

Caleb's parents never did find the money they needed, but even if they did, the tumor was growing too quickly to be prevented by a surgery - they had taken too long. Anything they would've done now would've been redundant; the tumor would've just grown back and the process of suffering would've started over again.

Sam could notice every single small thing that happened to Caleb, and it burned. 

Caleb could barely breathe anymore, he could barely eat or drink anymore, and his interest in absolutely anything just vanished. He was slower, sadder, and everyone could see he was deteriorating. His brain was falling apart.

The doctors told Caleb's parents and Sam that Caleb didn't have much time left. All they could do now was make sure he was comfortable, and prevent as much suffering as they could. 

No one knew what to do. Despite being at Caleb's side for that past whatever months. . . none of them were truly prepared. Nothing could've prepared them for this.

He was sleeping soundly in his hospital bed. He didn't curl up like usual or bring his covers close under his chin, he just laid there. The covers were draped pathetically over him, his arms rested limply at his side, and his head sat at one side. He could've been dead right then if his chest weren't moving.

Sam sat on the chair, like he usually did, and watched Caleb. How much longer? he thought. How many more days, or hours, or minutes do I have with him? How much longer does he have to suffer?

Sam has even thought about just killing him. Well, not killing him, but putting him out of his misery. Like an old dog or something. Caleb was crumbling from the inside out, and Sam hated that he had to watch it. He hated that he couldn't do anything about Caleb's long adversity. His unfortunate fate was of course inevitable, but sadly that inevitability came sooner than anyone would've expected. And Sam could do nothing about it.

He buried his chin into his knees, staring at Caleb through red, teary eyes. His arms wrapped tighter around the tops of his legs, and his nose nestled farther into his sweater fabric. 

He watched with a calm vengeance. He wanted retribution on cancer or Death itself for doing this to Caleb, he wanted retribution against himself for not doing anything, but most of all, he wanted retribution against the world. How dare the universe destroy something so. . . innocent. In comparison to the countless other perverted and unjust acts going on around the world, Caleb and Sam were innocent. How could the world bring down something like that? 

Screw karma. What was it good for, anyway? It obviously did nothing in this situation. For all the troubles Caleb's already gone through, karma gave nothing back. It rewarded him nothing.

And Sam. . . Sam didn't even want to think about himself.

The tears were falling whether he wanted them to or not, so he let them slide past. Occasionally he sniffed or wiped the snot from his nose, sometimes he even let a sob climb it's way out from the back of his throat, but for some reason he just wasn't willing. He refused to give up and start bawling, but he didn't have the effort to try and stop himself. So he silently cried, until eventually he laid his head against his arms, and closed his eyes.

~

Sam. . . I'll always miss you. Sam, I love you. Don't leave me behind. I'll never leave you. Don't ever leave me.