Disease

            I watched as he froze in the moonlight, watching my every movement with wide, owlish eyes. I touched the cigarette to my lips, taking pleasure in the sweet smoke that filled my lungs, my own eyes staring back at the boy in front of me.

            Caught in the act. That’s what that look on his face meant.

My lethargic body refused to let me move as blood continued to run down his hands, bathed in blue from the full moon outside. It almost appeared as if the blood flowed inside his veins still. The crimson streaming from his wrists seem as if it would never stop, but still, I could not force myself to move from my spot. I just stood, silently smoking my cigarette, as his body grew weaker and weaker before my eyes. I can’t say I was guilty, watching this boy die before my eyes, but I certainly took pity.

            He fell to his knees; wide eyes lined with unshed tears as he stared up at me, an angel bathed in the moonlight. No, I was not guilty as I watched him weaken, and finally breath the last words he would ever utter. “I love you, David.”

How could I feel sorry for a disease?