AN: This is somewhat of a thing after this tragedy thing happened at school, yeah, all sad and stuff. Uh, so yeah, read it and hope you think it's good! And Review when you're done please!
He reached the porch of the house and paused after stepping on the first step. He saw nothing, felt no heat, clenched his teeth and stared ahead as he thought of the month before when everything had been normal. A small shattered looking lady opened the front door and peered at him.
"She wants to see you, Ron." The woman said, and her face collapsed with tears. Ron's robotic self automatically went and hugged his mother. He went then quickly to the room where the blond girl lay, and he stopped before he entered, all of a sudden realizing that his eyes were blurred because of tears. He couldn't force a smile as he entered: her pain tore all the happiness from him.
Ron looked into the girl's eyes hopefully and stubbornly, still not believing. He went and sat down by her bed. He watched as she tried to find his hand, and it made his heart whine complainingly.
"Ron?" A soft voice muttered. Ron took her good hand in both of his and looked into her clear blue eyes, ignoring the tears that had escaped his eyelashes' clutches. "Ronnie…don't."
Ron didn't trust his voice, he shook his head and the pain in his black eyes was clear. He watched as she smiled at him lovingly.
"You're so sweet. Always were." She whispered. Ron rolled his eyes. It hurt so much to try and act normal. This day wasn't normal. This talk was Not normal.
"That's because I stick around you all the time Myra." Ron said, then he broke. How could he live and not have Myra around for him? "You can't go."
"Ronnie…" Myra pleaded shakily.
"I'll kill them. All, Myra, the fricken idiots don't deserve to live—"
"Ronnie. He learned. I don't think he'll be drinking and driving again soon." Myra soothed.
Ron scoffed, "Yeah, only because his license got taken."
He brought Myra's hand to his cheek and held it there. The girl was part of him. They looked so much alike, apart from their contrasting eyes and hair. Ron didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive the drunk driver who did this to his sister. His twin.
"I have to go soon" Myra whispered breathily, her eyes fluttering. Ron's eyes closed, and he kissed his twin's hand, forcing tears back to be strong for her. He gulped painfully.
"Do you need anything?" He asked her.
"I need you to go play." Myra whispered, her blue eyes opened and she looked at her brother intently serious. Ron froze. "'The Game of Life'. For me…and for God."
Adrenalin from complete shock was the only thing that moved the Ron's legs. The fast-paced city around him seemed slow and tainted, as if a dark veil had been glazed over his eyes. He took no notice of anything around him. The sun's attraction to his black outfit only made him shiver, and the sweat that was clogging his forehead and dripping like molasses to his eyes drew no more attention from him.
Not concentrating on where he was going, he moved with a depressed purpose. He was focused more on the images that flooded his mind each time he blinked (which seemed to take an eternity to do).
It was his earliest memory. He was about four, and he and a small blonde girl his age were fighting over a toy until the girl decided to play with something else.
Now it was about grade two, and he and the same blonde girl were jumping on a trampoline seeing who could go the highest. Later that year at recess, he watched as she stood up to a bully and got punched for it. A pang clenched Ron's heart as he whimpered for Myra.
The images shifted to a family reunion. He and Myra were nine, and they were with cousins in a field at night playing an intense game where the sky was a huge TV, the stars were people watching, and Ron, Myra, and their cousins were part of the TV program.
The family reunion two years later, when Myra proved all the boys wrong by hitting a homerun during the baseball game and then later doing major hammering and sawing for the tree house.
He saw her doing different things now; singing up at the front of the church, being chased down and tackled by younger cousins, laughing at a joke, hugging each member of her family.
Ron couldn't stop the images, and each new memory pressed more against his heart as he longed to talk to Myra again. He absentmindedly turned a corner and his images moved to more recent years.
He watched as Myra brushed her long hair, as she edited an essay of his, how her cheeks flushed when he asked how her boyfriend was. He remembered that she was going to be a nurse, and then travel to other countries to heal really sick people, and how he was the first one she told.
A small smile started to form on the boy's face as he relived this memory. Ron and Myra often told each other everything. She was perfect, if not a little showy, and her faith in God made her stand out even more beautifully.
The smile vanished as images of her in the past week invaded his mind. He saw a white gown and a bruised face that belonged to a pale girl who was hooked up to machines with casts and disheveled hair.
That was the day he'd become a robot.
Since then life consisted of school and sitting by her bedside. Three weeks ago it was all good. Even when he'd gotten the call that she'd been hit he'd had no doubts that she'd live. But when he saw her…and then the news; internal bleeding…and she was taken home so she would be comfortable when…
Ron didn't realize that tears were mixing with the sweat in his eyes. One particularly fat tear crept down his cheek after the next decade-long blink.
And he was so confused. It wasn't her time to go. She was only seventeen, to be eighteen in nine days, which was when her boyfriend Aaron was going to propose.
The vision of Aaron at Myra's white casket earlier that day made Ron finally recognize his tears, and he stopped where he was, at the riverfront's steps that lead to the water.
"This was supposed to be for your birthday." Aaron had said, forcing a heart-broken chuckle as he laid down a bouquet of daffodils beside Myra and took a glittering ring from a box. "But now's as good a time as any." Then he'd slid the ring onto Myra's cold finger with trembling hands, and Ron had to practically carry the crying Aaron to a chair.
And Ron had no clue what to do now. Without Myra. She was his lifeline. Ron slid to his knees on the sidewalk, oblivious to anyone or anything around him, and wiped the tears from his eyes. "What? What now? What am I supposed to do?"
Ron looked up, furious, and demanded: "TELL ME!"
"Go play!" A loving voice drifted over to Ron, and his head snapped around, startled. He saw a mother sending off her young children to play on the playground. What more of an answer could he want?
Ron sighed and rubbed his face on his sleeve, his mind racing. That wasn't a coincidence. He knew that much for sure. Myra's words rang through his head 'I need you to go play.' And he stood up and stretched.
Ron knew he was never going to forget Myra, and everything she'd taught him. But the lady had a point. He was still in the game, and now he had to live it up because he was playing for Myra too. And God. Ron pushed up his long sleeves, suddenly aware of the sun's heat, "Thanks."