#super shot

Phil woke up the next morning on the floor next to the sofa, Dan’s hand in his. He smiled and sat up, then lost the smile immediately.

“Dan! Dan, wake up! Oh my god, wake up!” he screamed, shaking the boy with the blue and white face.

His body was hard and cold, like he was a stone rather than a person. His lips were lightly parted and his arm hung off the sofa where Phil held his hand all night long. He shook Dan harder, pushing on his chest, lightly slapping his face, trying to wake him up.

“Come on! Wake up! Wake up Dan! Please!”

A knock on the door stopped Phil from shouting. He ran to open it, dragging the doctor in towards Dan’s body.

“Help him! He’s not breathing!” Phil shouted, pointing to the porcelain doll on his sofa that once was Dan.

The doctor bent down on his knees and held Dan’s wrist, hanging his head. He took out a small flashlight from his bag and lifted Dan’s eyelids up, unable to find the sparkling chocolate color that made him seem so alive. He stood up and pulled the blanket over Dan’s face, guiding Phil towards the table to start explaining whom he should contact to properly lay his friend to rest.

*

“We never finished our book, did we?” Phil asked the grey headstone.

He rubbed the top, tracing the letters on the front with his fingers carefully: Daniel James, born 11 June 1909 – 18 December 1926.

“Then he climbed a little further…and a little further…and then just a little further. By that time he had thought of another song,” Phil started, wiping the tears away. “Read this with me, Dan? Okay? I’ll help you through it. You promised.”

Phil looked up to the gravestone expecting to see Dan, wishing he’d come out from behind a tree and finish the story with him.

“’It’s a very funny thought, that if bears were bees, they’d build their nests at the bottom of trees. And that being so if the bees were the bears, we shouldn’t have to climb up all these stairs.’

Good job, Dan.”

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