Author’s Note: This is my baby as a result of drinking too much coffee and observing people. It makes absolutely no sense and is not supposed to—draw your own conclusions where they all are. This little blurb came out of my observations and the oddly poetic thought that popped to mind about how beautiful all of these men were while I was watching them.

Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.

He was collapsed on the ground, curled up tightly and convulsing with desperate laughter. His eyes were squeezed shut, mouth opened wide as he choked back silent screams. His usually sheet-flat hair was matted and disheveled, a result of his banging his head fruitlessly against the floor. As I grabbed his upper arm, I could feel that his muscles had tensed into bands of steel, causing him immense pain at my touch.

“David?”

His thrashing grew worse at the sound of my voice, his hand desperately clawing at the air in my direction. I grabbed it and brought it down to his chest. He held onto my hand tightly, knuckles straining white. “Shh, David. Shh…it’s not your time yet,” I told him softly.

David continued to roll on the floor, bashing his head continuously. Little moans of pain escaped from his throat against his will, and he began to sob even while laughing. “Shh…have peace. It’s not your time yet.”


He was a silent angel, soundlessly helping the fallen with healing in his hands and prayers on his lips. His brown eyes were unreadable, unnaturally calm in the flickering light of the inferno around us.

“Mike, shouldn’t we try to get out?”

His quick gaze was cool but sympathetic. “We were the ones left behind; there is nowhere to go. All we can do is pray.”

There was a long pink welt on his cheek from a burning wire that had snapped into his face. He knelt beside one of the screaming girls, and held one stiff hand in his delicately. She immediately paused in her shrieks, panting for breath. His other hand rested on her forehead, long fingertips barely brushing her hair. She let loose an audible sigh of relief, relaxing a bit into his cool touch. He closed his eyes and began to pray.

“Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world…”


He was sitting in an abandoned corner that nobody even glanced at, his weeping girlfriend in his lap. Her head was tenderly balanced on his shoulder, and he held her protectively close.

“I’m sorry!” she sobbed hysterically, burying her face in his shoulder, one hand holding onto his sweatshirt tightly. “God, I’m so sorry!”

His face was filled with concern as he stroked her hair, murmuring quietly into her ear to calm her. When I handed him a tissue box, he flashed me a quick glance of thanks.

She flailed her arms when he tried to wipe her face; another girl and I restrained her so that Arthur could clean away the traces of snot and tears from her face. He did so with a single-minded intensity and care that sacrificed all selfishness for her sake. I noticed that his shoulder was soggy, his new shirt ruined from her crying.

“Arthur, your shoulder—”

“It doesn’t matter. Only she matters.”


He was watching from the sidelines as the others flit around like dying butterflies, weeping and screaming and healing and praying. His usually immaculate hair was plastered with sweat, his stylish clothes ruined with soot and singes—but he was starkly beautiful still. I knew he wouldn’t help us.

I had barely shifted my attention from Will to the others when I saw a heavy metal shaft swing loose from the ceiling and fall straight at a boy who, unaware of the danger, was silently praying the rosary.

“Oh my God, watch out!” I cried in warning, along with some others who had noticed the same beam. He’s not going to make it! I wanted to turn my face away and not watch, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The boy still did not notice that it was him that we were screaming to.

In a blur of denim and black Will leapt across the floor, tackling the boy out of the way to take the full brunt of the blow himself. There was a sickening crunch and Will screamed as the metal roll crushed his right arm. I turned away when I saw its mangled state. I knew that Will would never play his beloved guitar again.

“Will, come on, let’s get you out of here.” I motioned for some others to help me lift him.

“No.” His eyes were pained but determined as they fixed on the fainting boy he had just saved. “Help him.”


David read out loud the note he wrote for Hannah. “Thank you for being the wonderful, beautiful, fabulous, brilliant girl you are—”

Mike rolled his eyes. “The picture would be funnier if we were acting gay. Like this.”

He gracefully swooped in, as if to kiss Tony. When Tony backed away, eyes wide, Mike laughed.

“As if I’d really kiss you, man.”

Arthur caught his girlfriend as she skipped carelessly down the hill. “Dude, be careful. You trip over everything. You shouldn’t do that.” His eyes were earnest. “Be careful.”

Will sat on top of a tabletop during break, eyes closed and head bowed. His fingers thrummed out some impossibly complex series of notes on his guitar.

Then he struck a dissonant chord.

Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

Status - Complete, ?



posted - 6:11 PM