Categories > Original > Drama > Lola
Gwen ran up to me at the hospital, I was still coated in blood.
I had tried to staunch the bleeding from Ethan's jugular with my hands, but to no avail.
I might as well have been using harsh language.
She clung to me, sobbing like she always did. I didn't feel like being touched or comforted right now, I gently slid out of her embrace.
"What's wrong Tyler?" She asked, looking up at me confused.
"Nothing."
She frowned at me, a sniffle escaping her now and then as she looked me over, trying to find what emotion I was holding onto.
"After all of this, you still won't open up to me.."
I turned away, irritated, "Tch!"
She suddenly grabbed my arm, holding it tight so that I couldn't pull away.
"What happened?"
Ethan's face was calm, his life spilling out before him and onto the sheets of his bed. He writhed in mute agony, the only sound was the gurgle and sputter.
I had ran to his bedside, clamping my hands over his throat, knocking the blood sullied razor from his hand and onto the floor.
"Oh God, oh God! Hang on Ethan! Hold on! ECHO!!"
She came running to the door, stopped at the sight before her, covered her face with her hands, and ran out of the room.
"Where the fuck are you going?!"
She came back in with her phone, calling 911, frantic and stuttering to the emergency operator.
Ethan's eyes began to glaze over, his skin turning pasty and pale, we were losing him.
"What happened?"
I snapped out of my flashback, Gwen still standing next to me, a look of urgency and frustration on her face.
I pulled my arm free from her grasp, "Ethan died okay? It's not important anymore, it's what he wanted."
With that, I stormed out of the hospital lobby. I just wanted to go home, bathe, drink, and sleep. Things would be better in the morning.
After a long shower, and a couple glasses of brandy, I sat down at my desk.
I looked over all the papers, pens, doodles, concepts, and ideas. Pure trash.
I wanted to write a poem, it was customary for me to do such a thing for a friends passing.
I cleared my mind and rejected that idea, poetry was not a fluent nor effective outlet at the moment.
My mind wandered over the day, what had been said, what had been done. I was actually quite relieved that Gwen hadn't showed up at my door, like she normally did.
My fingers absent mindedly traced the scar on my collar...
My Father had stomped towards me, knife raised and poised for a killing thrust.
As he came closer, I struggled with whether or not I should just lay down and die, or resist deaths calling. I opted for the latter.
I crawled frantically, leaving a heavy trail of blood behind me on the wooden floor.
He grabbed me by my ankle, dragging back towards him. In a final effort, I kicked out, striking him in the groin. He crumpled to his knees, wheezing as the pain spread through his nether regions. I rose to my feet, doing my best to run with the horrible pain pulsating in my shoulder and collar bone.
He rose to his feet slowly, I was half way across the room. He stumbled and collided into me, knocking me off my feet and sliding on my blood that had smeared the floor.
He pitched forward ahead of me, slamming hard into the closed door of my bedroom.
I heard him grunt, cough, then let out a slow raspy groan.
I layed there, expecting him to rise to his feet and finish me off. He never did.
When I finally got the courage to crawl over to his silent sprawled body, I kicked him a few times. He didn't more or utter a sound. So I rolled him over, to find his knife buried hilt deep in his belly. He must've rolled on it, because there was a large jagged cut in his flesh, going from right to left. His eyes were open, staring blankly at me.
Mom came home to find me curled up in the corner, sobbing and rocking myself. Only then were the police and EMS called.
An ambulance zoomed by and it startled me from my memories. I took another swig of brandy, then finally came to a conclusion.
I was going to find her.
I was going to find Lola Chloe.
I had tried to staunch the bleeding from Ethan's jugular with my hands, but to no avail.
I might as well have been using harsh language.
She clung to me, sobbing like she always did. I didn't feel like being touched or comforted right now, I gently slid out of her embrace.
"What's wrong Tyler?" She asked, looking up at me confused.
"Nothing."
She frowned at me, a sniffle escaping her now and then as she looked me over, trying to find what emotion I was holding onto.
"After all of this, you still won't open up to me.."
I turned away, irritated, "Tch!"
She suddenly grabbed my arm, holding it tight so that I couldn't pull away.
"What happened?"
Ethan's face was calm, his life spilling out before him and onto the sheets of his bed. He writhed in mute agony, the only sound was the gurgle and sputter.
I had ran to his bedside, clamping my hands over his throat, knocking the blood sullied razor from his hand and onto the floor.
"Oh God, oh God! Hang on Ethan! Hold on! ECHO!!"
She came running to the door, stopped at the sight before her, covered her face with her hands, and ran out of the room.
"Where the fuck are you going?!"
She came back in with her phone, calling 911, frantic and stuttering to the emergency operator.
Ethan's eyes began to glaze over, his skin turning pasty and pale, we were losing him.
"What happened?"
I snapped out of my flashback, Gwen still standing next to me, a look of urgency and frustration on her face.
I pulled my arm free from her grasp, "Ethan died okay? It's not important anymore, it's what he wanted."
With that, I stormed out of the hospital lobby. I just wanted to go home, bathe, drink, and sleep. Things would be better in the morning.
After a long shower, and a couple glasses of brandy, I sat down at my desk.
I looked over all the papers, pens, doodles, concepts, and ideas. Pure trash.
I wanted to write a poem, it was customary for me to do such a thing for a friends passing.
I cleared my mind and rejected that idea, poetry was not a fluent nor effective outlet at the moment.
My mind wandered over the day, what had been said, what had been done. I was actually quite relieved that Gwen hadn't showed up at my door, like she normally did.
My fingers absent mindedly traced the scar on my collar...
My Father had stomped towards me, knife raised and poised for a killing thrust.
As he came closer, I struggled with whether or not I should just lay down and die, or resist deaths calling. I opted for the latter.
I crawled frantically, leaving a heavy trail of blood behind me on the wooden floor.
He grabbed me by my ankle, dragging back towards him. In a final effort, I kicked out, striking him in the groin. He crumpled to his knees, wheezing as the pain spread through his nether regions. I rose to my feet, doing my best to run with the horrible pain pulsating in my shoulder and collar bone.
He rose to his feet slowly, I was half way across the room. He stumbled and collided into me, knocking me off my feet and sliding on my blood that had smeared the floor.
He pitched forward ahead of me, slamming hard into the closed door of my bedroom.
I heard him grunt, cough, then let out a slow raspy groan.
I layed there, expecting him to rise to his feet and finish me off. He never did.
When I finally got the courage to crawl over to his silent sprawled body, I kicked him a few times. He didn't more or utter a sound. So I rolled him over, to find his knife buried hilt deep in his belly. He must've rolled on it, because there was a large jagged cut in his flesh, going from right to left. His eyes were open, staring blankly at me.
Mom came home to find me curled up in the corner, sobbing and rocking myself. Only then were the police and EMS called.
An ambulance zoomed by and it startled me from my memories. I took another swig of brandy, then finally came to a conclusion.
I was going to find her.
I was going to find Lola Chloe.
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