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The End of Him (Challenge you, challenge me!!)

Short story By: Jo94
Young adult



For Sonia's challenge! I took her poem The End of Him, and wrote a little short story of it. Just about grief, death, young love, childhood friends, and cancer.


Submitted:Aug 3, 2009    Reads: 89    Comments: 4    Likes: 0   


The End of Him

I remember the first time I saw Gregory. With a smile on his face, and bright blond curls hanging in his eyes. I loved him, from the first time I saw him, back on that chilly October day at the pumpkin patch. A school field trip, where everyone got to pick out their own pumpkin, and we would take them back to class, and carve them. I was seven I believe, and was crying. Whining over something irrelevant. Oh yes, now I remember, I was too cold. Since, I was seven - and just moved from Arizona - I hadn't really taken into account of the bitterly cold Minnesota weather.

He was perfect, so much better than I, but still, he walked up to me, and whispered to me, "Pretty girls don't cry." The wrapped his jacket around my shoulders, and snapped me out of my fit. We were best friends - inseparable - ever since.

Now, I'm here sitting here on his grave, eleven years later. They put him in the ground. I kept muttering, and thinking. It made me sick. It made me want to hurl, but I couldn't. Believe me, I would if I could... However, I hadn't eaten in days. I knew it was coming though... this. I'd know for months... Only eighteen years old, and death of... cancer. It ate him from the inside out, and it made me miserable to watch him go through it.

He was the perfect one, the one with the good grades, he was charming, and humorous. Everyone loved Greg. I, the most. You could say, he was the ideal, or golden child, even.

We grew up as best friends, blind sighted. We were ignorant of each other, it was ridiculous. Not till one year ago, today, that someone finally slapped us while sleeping, that we woke up from our constant daze, and knew that we were soul mates. Well, that's what he called it. I on the other hand - thought it was a bit corny, cheesy at best, but I loved it, even though I wouldn't admit it. Not to myself, and definitely not to him. I was stubborn - wait let me rephrase that - overly, and bitterly stubborn. Greg was the only one that could get me out of that state. He never failed once. It all started at the pumpkin patch, when he told me that, "Pretty girls don't cry." Now... I wonder, if he loved me too, that first moment he saw me...

There was no way of knowing. He was gone. Forever, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was just happy that I could spend the time I had with him, while I had him. Better to love and lost, than to never have loved at all. I smiled, my first smile in days, weeks, at the corny quote. Yet, the quote held up to it's honesty. It was true, all the way around. There was no doubt about that.

We did everything together, we even lost our virginity to each other. Went to prom together.
We knew everything there was to know about each other. When we were kids, if either one of us were sick, the other would stay home too. Our mothers weren't too fond of that, but let us anyways. Knowing it was harmless.

That seemed so long ago now, yet , we still held up to that routine of ours, to this day. While Greg went into chemo, I didn't go to school as long as he didn't. I wouldn't have even paid any attention anyways. There was no point in even going.

We knew about three months ago. That he wouldn't make it. That's when our lives changed. Greg, didn't even cry. All he was doing was trying to console me. Which made me even angrier. I was so furious. I hated life, I gave up on everyone, and everything. I was sick and tired. That night while we went to sleep, and I was still whaling, he whispered to me again. " Pretty girls don't cry." The same quote he used when we first met. Then kissed me on the head. I didn't cry again. Not through all three months of the pain, and knowing. Not till I knew he was gone.

He made me realize, without saying it, that there was no use of crying over something I couldn't control. I needed to make our time left together better than any other time together. We did anything, and everything he wanted to do. For two months, till he was too tired to do anything anymore. We spent a horrible month, locked up in his hospital room. Him, trying to hold on as long as he could. For me. I constantly told him, that it was okay. I would be okay. He didn't even focus on himself. He was worried about what he was leaving behind. He wasn't worried, that he'd never do anything ever again. Not become the doctor he wanted to be, or have those two kids in the suburbs like he dreamed.

The day, my best friend, my love, my soul mate went off with his charm, his humor, his intelligence, he whispered something up to me that I couldn't make out, looking at me through those blue eyes of his, and closed them oh-so-gently, and it seemed like he went to sleep, and that was it, he was gone, and all I could hear was my heart pounding, my blood pulsing through my veins vehemently. I couldn't make out the sounds of the monitor, that dead beep, that flat line. I couldn't hear, my mother, trying to comfort me. I couldn't hear my Father's sobs. I couldn't hear his parents screaming. I couldn't hear the nurses and doctors hustle and bustle. He had his whole life in front of him, and all of that was taken away. He was a better person than most. He was better than I. He didn't deserve this, no one deserved this. Did I really deserve this?

It was fate, and I couldn't change it. It was how things were supposed to be. I'll never love another the way I loved him. I'll never look at someone like the way I looked at him. He was the one. Maybe one day we'll meet again. In another life. But, I couldn't fight anymore.

"You know I love you. I always have, and always will. You were perfect Greg, and I'll never meet another that even compares to you. You were the one, and I'll meet you again, and one day we'll make it right." Saying this - aloud - finally meant he was gone. It made it real, and I felt alone, and cold.

I started crying. Heavy sobs, harder than ever before. Harder than the sobs at the pumpkin patch, harder than the ones I heaved when I knew Greg wouldn't make it, and I swear I could hear, while I was trying to calm myself down. Through the wind, the perfect, most serene words, I'd ever heard, "Pretty girls don't cry."





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