Not too long ago, I published an article with another excerpt from the same story; if you are interested, I recommend reading that excerpt before this one. Please enjoy!

War was happing inside my bedroom, ringing in my ears, flashing before my eyes, creeping in my nose, tickling my tongue and dancing on my fingertips. War was happening inside my brain — it was falling down my throat into my heart, exploding inside my stomach while spreading through my arms, my legs, my feet and my toes. Each gun shot was connected from one continent to the other, spreading from my cranium to my naval.

The love of my life was dead, but the war was still going on. My homework was sitting on my desk, undone. There was some new green mold growing on my pale wall. Was it always there? I never noticed. The flowers on my bedside table kept on growing, and my heart kept on beating. When were things going to end? When was this war going to stop? I wished that I was never involved. I wished that I was isolated from everything going on. I wished people didn’t have to care about me so I wouldn’t be so heartbroken.

But most importantly, I wished the artwork without an artist was alive. I kept on praying that she would stand next to me, but every time I turned my head, she was never there. All I saw were the stupid beautiful flowers growing on my bedside table. I wanted them to die. I wanted to die. I wanted everything to die, I wanted the world to end so everything would be where Summer Paige was at that moment.

But where was she? Even when her soft, pink, plump lips were in sync with mine, even when her body was entangled with mine, even when our hearts were beating on top of one another, was she really there? Her soul did not fit her body; it was too precious — too perfect — to fit this Earth.

She was not meant to live in a place where she out-shined the star that gave us life. Nothing could suit her needs since there was not a single element in life that was untouched like she was. Even when I was touching her she never felt so pure. There wasn’t a grain of sand or an undiscovered solar system that she could thrive in, nevertheless be compared to.

She was my universe. She was my everything.

She was gone.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.