Atticus Has Died.
...It took a few moments for the whole sentence to make sense.Â
Okay, Atticus, a proper noun, a handsome young blond that brings purpose and meaning into Preston's pile of shit he calls life.
Has, a verb, the third person singular present of have. One of the most plain words in the world that managed to sound like embodied art when it fell out of the blond's mouth.
Died. That took much longer than the others. Â Died. Verb. Past participle. Past tense of die. ...To stop living.
So, in more detailed terms, the best thing is Preston's life has stopped breathing.Â
His long fingers curl into the pocket of his hoodie, brown curls flopping in his face as they just barely hid the grimace of a broken hearted teenage boy that was holding back tears.
After a few minutes of groping at rough fabric, his fingertips finally brush against dark velvet. He'd skipped so many meals, did so many odd jobs, sold so many of his things just to afford one ugly ring.
One ugly ring that now wouldn't have an owner.
Opening and closing his mouth a few times, Preston chokes back a sob before finally speaking. His voice is just above a whisper, a ghost of the cocky and light voice it'd been just hours before.
                    "...Oh."
Because god forbid he was happy for once in his life.
