BackWash (Editing & Completed)

Chapter 5: The Saints and the Sinners

Chapter 5: The Saints and the Sinners

My heart feels so heavy. Breathing isn't natural to me anymore. I have to keep reminding myself that I'm still alive. Everything feels empty. I feel empty.

It's been a week since the accident. I'm still here. But Brent, he's not. He's gone. His soul is resting. He's left me. 

I'm completely alone now and the worst part is knowing it.

I glance at the red sun setting over the glistening ocean just over the horizon. Brent's gone past the horizon as Stella predicted. She knew we'd all reach the horizon eventually but I didn't suspect Brent to leave so soon. He had always been my life jacket in this thunderous storm of living, of surviving. But I hold onto the comfort that he's free from the barrier of life. He doesn't have to live in this cruel world anymore. He can finally sleep. He's joined Matt. 

A dark shadow falls across my position on the golden sea sand. I gaze up to see a seagull flying above me, fighting relentlessly, effortlessly, against the strong winds being thrown off the ocean as if worthless.

It's almost as if 'life' is reminding me that no one cares. 

The day is hot, blazing. The sun is blood red, radiating its heat on this fine summer's day. The blue ocean sparkles and reflects the sun. The shore seems to have more color than usual, almost as if I'm treading over a soft golden carpet. There are even these damn seagulls living to the fullest, taking on the wind beneath their wings, literally.

And then there's me, sitting here on a beautiful day, remembering that my only friend in life is now dead.

Brent was right that night. He was done. He is done. His fight is over while my fight still continues to torment and plague me with cruel nightmares of the countless memories I once shared with someone special, with someone who loved me -- Brent.

Point being, 'life' doesn't care that Brent is dead.

If 'life' cared, it would be a stormy day. The ocean waves would be rough when crashing up against the shore. The dull, wet sand would fly up and sting painfully. The sun wouldn't be out. The sun would hide its face behind clouds of tearful mourning, the rain pelting down heavily from above. 

In the past, if I dared stumble in life, Brent would be there to catch me and lift me back up. I keep reaching out for his warm smooth hand, even if it's to feel it for the last time, only to find nothing but suffocating air and absolute coldness.

His face haunts me, his eyes follow me. I see him in everything now.

In my dreams, I keep searching for those emerald green eyes accompanied by that dazzling smile that seemed to revive my spirits, only to come up short. His last expression is tainted - imprinted - into my mind, torturing my thoughts with the vivid image. He had a hopeful expression as he had waited for my answer - one that I didn't even give. If he died with my answer I'd have more peace and acceptance in letting him go. But Brent didn't know what my answer was. He died wondering. He died not knowing that I cared.

I stretch my legs out before me on the soft sand, dwelling back to that damned night that destroyed everything I adored, everything precious to me, everything I loved, and all because I created such a scene that he had no other choice but to pull over and try to rekindle our friendship.

It's my fault he's not sitting beside me right now.

A week ago:

I glance up at him, taking in his precious green eyes and the hopeful expression lit upon his face, ready to give my final answer. But then I see a blinding light coming from Brent's side at an alarming speed. My mouth falls shut as I blink and squint a little to readjust my vision, confused. Then like a bucket of ice cold water, it hits me. "Brent!" I scream in panic as I try to warn him to move.