Live Young, Die Young

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
a guy who thinks differently.

Submitted: September 02, 2019

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Submitted: January 03, 2019

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I took a long drag from the cigarette, filling my lungs with the fumes. It was cold, and I got chills up my arms as I looked over at Matt. He met my eyes, “Why the fuck are we on a rooftop smoking cigarettes past midnight?” 

 

I laughed harshly, smoke spewing from my mouth. “Cause why the hell not?” 

 

He nodded and took a drag from his cigarette and so did I. It seemed like we had been here forever. I didn’t mind it either. This place was perfect. It being so late at night the streets were lit up by ads, cars, and stars. It was beautiful. I wished I could die right now. 

 

It’s not like I was suicidal or anything, but it was just perfect. It would be a good ending to such a life. I didn’t want my life to end in a heart attack or lung cancer. 

 

I was a strong believer in the, “live young, die young,” motto. My theory is, I would rather do the most insane things while I’m young and have 20 years filled with adventures I would never trade for the world than die a 80-year-old-man whose kids dumped him in a retirement home til I rot. 

 

A lot of times people ask, “What’s the best moment of your life?” And I wonder what the hell they mean by that. I couldn’t simplify my life down to one moment. And if you can, your life isn’t worth nearly what your parents spent to raise you. 

 

A lot of times I just lay down on my bed and stare. I think about life. Like what does it all mean? A lot of times I’m scared. Scared that there is a God and I’ll rot in hell or scared that there isn’t and I’m blindly following something to lessen the wrath of a make believe God.

 

I have a theory about the Bible. What if the Bible was just a book? Just a story. It seems like one a lot. I think of that one guy who parted the sea, Moses. He seems like some type of superhero. Or David and Goliath? They seem like a fable. 

 

“Andrew? You good?” I realized how long I had been staring off just thinking to myself. I brought the cigarette up to my lips and inhaled. 

 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I watched as Matt leaned against the brick wall so he was closer to the edge of the building. He put his elbows on top of the bricks and just sort of sat there. He stayed there for twenty minutes. I just sat and watched him, casually smoking whenever I felt the high go away. 

 

“You okay, Matt?” He turned around and his face lit up from the surrounding lights. I saw tears streaming down his face. 

 

“No.” His voice was weird. It was shaky. Nervous. Sad. He probably had too many cigarettes. He got up on top of the brick wall and sat down. If he leaned forward he would fall down 20 flights. I slowly walked up towards him and leaned against the wall. 

 

“What’s wrong?” He didn’t look at me. He started sobbing and I didn’t question him anymore. I wrapped my arms around his chest and tried to pull him off the brick wall but he kept fighting my hands. I began to get scared he would try and jump off the roof. I know, earlier I kept saying ‘Live young, die young,’ but he’s different. He wasn’t like me. He loved his family, loved his sister. I wasn’t about to let him die over some cigarettes. 

 

I yanked his chest and we both fell backwards. It was a relief but I didn’t let him go from my arms. He kept crying so I held him tighter. He was on top of me and I could smell the ash from his cigarette smothering his breath.

 

“I’ve got you.” I kept repeating. He eventually stopped crying and I let go. I got up and he got up too. I looked at him and he stared back at me. 

 

He picked his cigarette up off the ground, took a drag, and sat down. He tried to curse, but it came out as a cry, “Life is too damn hard.”

 


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