Bring Me Back To Life

A Dream

It's been a year since Alfred... died and everything still feels depressing.

His funeral was full of sadness and regret. The people who knew him as the boy who always smiled and waved at them all the while passing by really felt regret because the boy never deserved this. They should have showed love and care but all they did was give him more reasons to die. It doesn't matter whenever or wherever they go, everything still reminds them of the golden haired teen.

It's hard to cope when you didn't care about what you had back then until it's already too late. He even chose to die on his birthday. Instead of good memories, all it brought to their town is sorrow.

And it is July 4th.

They never knew this was what Alfred felt. He must have been so lonely and depressed. With nothing and no one by his side.

It must have been so dreadful.

Now all of them suffer the consequences.

Ivan had long accepted that Alfred really is dead but he cannot accept that Alfred is gone. Yes, Alfred was dead. Ivan had accepted that--- far more readily than he could have ever imagine--- that he wouldn't see his little one again. But what he would not accept was that Alfred was gone. Because that was simply not the truth.

Ivan looked up and saw the shining sun and the blue sky.

The sun.

It always reminds Ivan of Alfred's endless happiness. His cheery attitude he first thought of as annoying and irritating. But he grew to feel warmth with him, to feel the comfort he once felt with his sisters, and to feel the bubbly happiness from him.

The sky.

The sky is still there. The sky curved above them just like the convex of Alfred's blue bright eyes that always made him smile in more ways than one. It reminds him of the days of the blissful past when he was still considerate. Less scary. Less avaricious. Ivan knew when he first met Alfred that he'll grow to love his eyes dearly. That's why Ivan loves the sky.

But when the dark clouds comes, it paints darker colors to the sky. That's when Ivan hates it.

He hates the dark clouds. The rain.

It always reminds him of that dreadful day. That day when Alfred cried so hard and killed himself. That day when everything was wrong.

Alfred was never gone. He's forever in his heart.

Even when it hurts.

Closing his eyes tightly, he leaned against the side of his door, trying to hold in his tears as they threatened to fall. He did not want to cry, he didn't even want to look back to that horrible memory. Slipping inside, he took a few deep breaths before pushing the door shut, letting its sound echo heavily in the hall.

Arthur mindlessly stared at nothing. July 4th. The damn day always brought him sorrow. He's forlorn whenever this day comes. Why wouldn't it? All of this was his fault.

He always bullied the American with petty words he thought nothing of.

It was just a joke.

It was just his usual banter.

But he never knew that it hurt Alfred so much, he never once thought that Alfred would feel this way.

He never thought this would ever happen to him.

He never knew.

Nobody knew.

And now he stood, alone and in the dark, with nothing more than his memories and shattered hope.