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  An illuminated topaz sun blazing down to bake open cuts and exposed skin. Sweat percolates into his clothes while his chest falls and rises like a frightened rabbit. For what he sees as his last moments, Warren lets the radiating star above his head take his eyes, shutting them out with a blindness that he hopes will help him die quicker.

  He's lying out on a road, some car far off in the distance, the one that decided to leave him here, dying. A feeling washes over him, it's a wave of pain and a throaty groan drips from his lips, muffled as he tips his flushed cheek to the roasting pavement. Eyes that open back up, just to trace the clouds and how round they are, and soon to be were.

  When they move their way down, they scan his body. Sweat soaked Queen band shirt, loose dark jeans that hung up on his hips, he felt his blonde hair sticking to his forehead with almost adhesive perspiration. His hearing was already gone, his eyes were the only things left that could maintain the ability to move. Many gashes and wells reflect into cerulean eyes, falling to the pavement, the pupils observe how heat emits from the highway in waves. He's laying on this? Why isn't his body frying?

  While attempting to still preserve these last pictures, something unfamiliar flashes in front of him, Warren recognizes the feeling of his eyelids closing. He thinks it's the illusion of his life flashing before him. The only woman in his life that ever treated him right, and the father he was never close enough to, their faces flashed just before his eyelids decided it was enough. Warren's throat becomes dry. And what orange film behind his eyelids there was, disappeared completely as he fell out of his body, almost through the pavement.


  There was no feeling to describe when all he saw was a white ceiling. He supposed it to be the sky, but he didn't think the sky would be so flat. His ears still felt plugged; there was nothing to be heard, anyway. This is heaven, he mused. I don't need to hear anything if this is my paradise. I should think about it, and receive it.

  Warren thought hard about his parents, that woman and the man. They treated him right, he always said to himself. When nobody else would. He had no idea why people picked on him; he didn't see any negative traits. But they did it anyway, and girls had no problem kicking in with it.

  Before long, two figures hovered Warren, their worried faces. He found them through cracked eyelids, seeing as the lights were starting to blind him up here. It was finally noticed that Warren was unable to see his body, or feel it. He couldn't move much, a few fingers, his elbow, and of course his eyes. The rest he had no control.

  That's when he started hearing things. "He's alive." The exasperated voice of a woman he loved. No, I'm not, he whispered to her. But it never came out.

  There was beeping, why was Heaven beeping? His neck allowed him to tilt to the side, he found a monitor. It fashioned a darker background and a green line whose slope would jump in between his breaths. And when he found out what it was, the lines began to sporadically whip up and down, his breathing catching them.

  Another figure came overhead, a man in turquoise apparel, so sterile looking. No one said anything for the past few minutes, or so it felt. Warren was drawing quick, shaky breaths, making an educated guess that he'd survived. Tears rolled down his cheeks, opposite sides from his lying position. His mother reached down, taking his hand. This allowed Warren to see beyond his chest and shoulders; his arm was all stitched up, no more gashes and gushing blood.

  "I'm so happy you're alive." She murmured, taking a hand to push back her auburn hair behind her ear, eyes crinkled at the edges from smiling so often. This was the first time she was ever not-smiling that Warren has seen.

  "We were afraid you wouldn't make it." His father bared the fact, straight and clear, like always.

  Warren smiled. He was truly happy. There was nothing in the world that could bring him down. Because after the damage he had taken, he knew he could survive even more. The boy contemplated taking his own life, he was so close, and he thought this event would do him in. But this event only seemed to make him stronger.

  There were tears falling down onto the clothes the hospital slipped him onto, the ones from his mother and his own. Warren and his father shared a smile.

  He curled his trembling fingers around his mother's, knowing that no matter what; he'd never have a thought so selfish again. He'd be happy, and make the most out of everything, for his family. He saw the images that appeared to be his last, were the faces of his parents, scooping him right off the ground and taking him to safety.

  They didn't even have to ask why, or what happened, they just were happy he was still down on Earth. And so was he. Deep down inside him, when he was sprawled out on the road, he had faith they'd come. Warren smiles to himself, thinking that he will never lose that faith.

  He'd continue life as if everything were behind him, and nothing bad had ever happened, because he knew others could have it worse. But how would the person who had it the worst act? He'd show them how to act, demonstrating with himself, with a smile everyday looking back at him in the mirror.
Quick write, fourty-five minutes, no editing. Technically a rough draft for a short story.
Inspired by the song "Dying In The Sun" by The Cranberries.

Please enjoy.

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May 9, 2010
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