Just a quick one shot I whipped up in class!
There was the screeching of some metal beast which caused their heads to jerk towards it, as it raced towards them like a train speeding down its tracks. With no time to react, Haru felt a hand –numb, but warm with life- press into the middle of his back. Fear made his perception slow, still unable to react and instead forced to witness the tragedy in all of its entirety. That warm hand belonged to Makoto, his finger's seemingly leaving Haru's flesh one by one –as if counting down how long he had left to live.-
Haru's eyes were wide and frantic and for just a brief, passing moment they locked into Makoto's, as if the blue eyes themselves pleaded his friend not to. But the green eyes smiled 'it'll be ok, Haru.' And all the fingers left, pushing him away. There was no more noise but boy's heartbeat thudding in his ears, booming like the festival drums down the street. Makoto's smile soon melted into fear as the car struck him, agony contorting his face as he disappeared over the hood and took to the air.
"Look Haru! I can fly!" He'd say on the playground, voice giddy with youthful aspirations, kicking his legs on the swings to soar higher.
He was not flying now. He was falling with his blood chasing him down in a trail, face frozen in shock. Until he struck the ground with a crack –like the sound of a paper firework they played with together as children, popping against the street-. Makoto's head bounced against the gravel and unconsciousness washed over him in a rushing current. He laid still, pale and corpse-like, skin twitching with small convulsions that contorted his flesh.
The metal beast which hunted him dashed down the street to some other unseen prey. Haru remained seated on the grass by the road where Makoto had pushed him, that usual sparkle in his friend's eyes hidden behind the hooded lids which rested over them. A small bead of blood painting red tracks down his chin. Pale, fair skin being tainted by black and purple.
"Makoto?" Haru could not move, instead sat cross legged beside the path, hands tight on his ankles, as if waiting for his friend to awaken.
A painter would have been proud had he captured the scene, with the vivid colors that seemed to leak from the boy who had once felt everything –a sensitive man- to one who now felt nothing. Red burned into the very body, clashing with the grey's of the road, shining in contrast to the purples which littered his broken limbs. The bright yellow wave where the sun had just sunk below the orange horizon speckled salmon, slowly fading upwards into a solid black abyss.
A crow cocked his head and cried for the boy, a long note of despair as the breeze ruffled the surrounding trees, the warm breath of spring and new life slowly taking the boy's last and swirling it up into the atmosphere and the inky black above the sun. "Makoto?" There were no stars tonight, just a pitch black night with no moon and an ocean with no tide.
I know. I killed him! :'(