A/N: OK, I'm editing this into something easier to read because my previous posting had all the words bunched together. Hopefully this is better.
"He looks cold."
Zigzag looks to me, his eyes just begging for me to tell him what to do, how to act. "Do you think he's cold? Should I go get him another blanket?"
Wearily, I nod, more to give Zigzag something to do than because Squid felt cold. I don't think Squid feels cold. I don't think Squid feels anything any more.
Zigzag leaves and returns with another white hospital blanket. He carefully lays it over Squid, making sure not to disturb any of the tubes or needles that attached Squid to the various machines that were keeping him alive.
God, you fucked yourself over Squid.
I can't help thinking it. I know it's probably cruel and insensitive but I just can't help it. After all, he put himself here. It was his choice to break into the Wardens cabin, his choice to steal her tranquilizers – I never knew the Warden took Valium, I wonder how Squid knew - and his choice to take all of them at once.
I've got so many pictures in my mind of Squids last day at Camp. Squid waking to the trumpet, acting as if everything's normal. Squid digging his hole like he did every day, no hints to show that he didn't expect to do it again. Squid playing pool with me - he lost, which is completely out of character. I should have realized. Squid... slack in Mr. Sirs arms. This, I will learn, is one of the last images I have of my friend alive.
Zigzag took one of Squids hands. His nails are bitten - I didn't know Squid bit his nails, but, of course, it's not like I was studying him or anything. Not like now, now that I know this is gonna be one of the last times I get to see him.
Ziggy's talking to him now, real quiet but I can still hear.
"Hey Squid," he whispers, "Hey... once you get outta here... we can start over, ok? We'll spend more time together and get to know each other... and this will never have to happen again... as soon as you get out..."
I don't think Zig realizes that Squid's not gonna get outta here. There's gonna be no more Squid chewing on that toothpick of his, no more du-rag. No more Squid to beat me at pool. No more Squid waking me up in the middle of the night crying in his sleep, crying horrible, frightened sobs, not even sobbing, screaming. No more Squid to back me up, no more Squid to save my place in the dinner line, no more Squid to... no more Squid.
Shit, now I'm crying. I haven't cried in a long time.
Squids last days are excruciating. Every day Squid seems to get closer and closer to death until he seems like he's not even a person any more. Just a chart at the foot of a hospital bed. The chart doesn't have anything about the way Squid grinned at me when he sunk a ball at pool or when he finished digging before me. It doesn't have anything about how Squid had big plans to get outta Camp, go back to school and, eventually, become a marine biologist, (what happened to those plans, Squid?), it doesn't have anything about Squid, my best friend. All it has is a temperature, a heart rate, and a pulse that gets fainter every day.
"Hey Squid," Zigzag says, "When you wake up you better say sorry for sleeping so long... you better say sorry..."
I think now that Zigzag knows that Squid ain't gonna wake up, he ain't gonna get the chance to say he's sorry, but Zig doesn't want to admit it. I think he's hoping that if he just keeps talking Squid will have something to stick around to listen to. I wonder if Squid can hear him. I doubt it. Squid's gone.