It was so fast. There was a gunshot and then a thump.
That was it.
It was so quick, so painless for the one dying, but for the one left behind, for the one who had to look and find the small bullet wound in the forehead, the open eyes, the absent pulse, it was the most painful thing in the world.
He didn't know why he was so angry. This was how life worked. People lived, and then they died. There wasn't always a warning sign, no flag that announced death was riding in on a black steed.
There was no chance for goodbyes, no meaningful last words, no declarations of love or apologies.
Death was sudden, unexpected, and painful.
Just like life was.
And god, wasn't that the most painful thing. He could deal with his best friend dying (rather wouldn't, of course, who would?) but it was the lack of closure that ruined him.
Just one more minute would have been enough, just one minute of bleeding out where he could say all the things that he only ever said in his smile, or the way he insulted him, or the writings on his blog. Just one minute to make sure the man actually understood, because honestly sometimes he wasn't sure. Just one minute more.
He sank to his knees and cried.
Cried for all the words that could have be said, but never would be. And god, how he wished he could.
Because you don't always get what you want. Life didn't exist to please you.
But by god, he thought, sometimes it could be a little kinder.