• He was the little boy that couldn't wait to grow up.
    He used to smile as big as he could for no reason, just for the hell of it.
    He was the happiest thing you could've imagined, always cheering you up.
    I liked him. A lot.
    He was my best friend.
    I know he was destined for a wonderful life, and he would've got it.
    But when he finally was older, not an adult, he changed.
    I would've asked what was wrong, but he wouldn't say anything.
    I think he knew I wanted to help.
    Somedays he let me hold his hand or hug him.
    He was so quiet, it was heart-breaking.
    I wish I was strong enough to actually do something, but I didn't.
    One day, he just hugged me and whispered in my ear, "I'm sorry. I loved you."
    I didn't say anything because I started crying.
    His voice. It shocked me. How much I loved it, loved him, was shocking.
    I would've said I loved him back but I couldn't. I was terribly speechless.
    He was still holding me in his arms when I heard the the blast in my ear.
    Surprisingly, I didn't jump or gasp.
    The ringing in my ears hurt, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as having him in my arms.
    His body was limp, almost as if physically showing how fragile he was as a person.
    I fell to the floor, still holding him, and grabbed the gun.
    I closed my eyes and held my breath.
    Feeling the gun against my forehead. . .
    I shot.