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Rated: E · Short Story · Drama · #1337688
This is the death of a famous J-Rocker. Most of it is fiction to apply effect.
I could barely contain myself when I first laid eyes upon his death. He hung there, from the ceiling, his eyes on me. They were blank, but displayed some regret of life. I knew he was dealing with a lot, but it didn't seem that it was pressuring him. For him to give in, the world must've stopped, it must've halted its path. The man I though I knew, he was vivacious, persevering, and unyielding. Yet, here he lie dead.
I untied the noose and gently let him down. Even though this was the coroner's job, I could not see a dear friend of mine evanesce. I feel his spirit near me, over my shoulder, but my eyes do not perceive. He was frail and frigid, his lifelessness daunting. 'Where would I go from here?' I thought. My cowardice weakened me, yet I shed no tears. The aroma of coffee wafted towards me, its strong fragrance crippling my mind. Scenes from my past flooded in and I felt demented. In that moment, I could not grasp my sanity. One memory stood out in my mind that I could never be willing to disown.
It was a crisp autumn night, leaves enshrouded the parking lot and crunched as we tread over them. Before we opened the door to backstage, he looked back at me.
"If we do not enjoy ourselves tonight, then we are going to have to work harder to satisfy ourselves!"
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