She put him out like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette
She broke his heart, he spent his whole life tryin' to forget
We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time
But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind
Until the night

Eighteen-year-old Doug Hemmington arched his back into the couch, slowly pulling the cigarette from his mouth and giving it a long blow. She always told him that it would one day kill him, but right now, it didn't matter.

He ran an ghostly pale hand through his jet black- almost blue- hair, and took a long drag. He scraped the edges of the cigarette on the bottom of his shoe, and walked to the window, where he casually tossed the butt out onto the street, and then rummaged through the back of the fridge, looking for the beer he kept in there.

Beer after beer, he started to breath heavily, and he slammed an empty bottle against the chipping sheet rock, his lungs heaving with anger.

Distroying the inside of his fridge, he found a stash of strong bottles of whiskey. Pulling one out, he filled an empty shot glass, and slurped it, realizing it was just a little bit thick. Leaving a fuzzy feeling, that danced along his tounge. He cleared his throat, and filled the glass again. Dumping it into his mouth. The feeling, crossing his tounge again.

She never liked that feeling He thought to himself. Damn He also thought. Everything he did reminded him of what she did to him.

Taking a deep breath, he tilted the bottle into his mouth, drinking till the very bottom was dry.

He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away her memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees
We found him with his face down in the pillow
With a note that said I'll love her till I die
And when we buried him beneath the willow
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby

His hand itched, and it itched bad. He scratched with his stubs of nails until it blead. He groaned and reached for a steak knife, running it over his partial wound. It hurt, but it stopped the itching. He sliced a part of skin, just a little lower than his first gash, and watched the blood run down his arm. He decided that red was a good color for him

His hand itched again. But not a scratching itch, more like an antsy twitch. He wiggled his fingers, and closed them into a fist, and stiffly back to an open hand. Then, he eyed the pistol on his table.

NO, he told himself. His mind said one thing, but his body said another. He tried to fight the urge to pick it up, but he wasn't strong enough, or sober enough.

He picked it up and his finger trembled on the trigger. Pointed at the wall, he shot a clean hole through the sheet rock, above where pieces of glass stuck to the paint, where he smashed the bottle.

Breathing deeply, he sat with the gun between his legs, hands on the trigger, pointed above his left eye.

He put it down, to scribble a note to her in his best loopy cursive writing.

"I will love you, until the day I die.

-Doug Hemmington~"

He peered down the barrel of the gun, poised how he was earlier, and in one swift motion, he pulled the trigger.

la la la la la la la la la la la la la la

The rumors flew but nobody knew how much she blamed herself
For years and years, she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath
She finally drank her pain away a little at a time
But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind
Until the night

Seventeen-year-old Allyson Heart balled up in her darkly colored, navy blue room. Tears welled up in her hazey green eyes, and dripped down, staining her rosey pink cheeks with pail, wet lines.

Grabbing her coat, she walked next door to his house, noticing that the door was left unlocked. Bottles of full whiskey stood on their side. In attemp to obtain something of his, she gulped the whiskey in brave heeps. Knowing that she didn't like the feel, but she didn't care. He did, and it reminded her of him so much that it hurt.

It was her fault. All her fault, and she didn't want to admit it, but she knew it was true.

She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away his memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength she had to get up off her knees
We found her with her face down in the pillow
Clinging to his picture for dear life
We laid her next to him beneath the willow
While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby

Seeing the hole in the wall, she looked for a gun.

It was set down neatly on his pillow, where an everlasting head print would stay.

She ran her hand over the bloody pistol, and dug the barrel into the back of her hand and forced the trigger to work. She flinched at the icy cold sting piercing her skin, and she screamed, not too loud to notify the neighbors. Just enough that she knew it hurt.

She dragged the gun a little further up her arm, around her wrist, took a deep breath and pulled the trigger again. Warm blood spilled through the wound, and she watched it stain the carpet.

She got up, and looked around his house. Pictures of them cluttered his desk and dresser. Her particular favorite had to be their day at the beach.

She scooped it up in her arms, and her tears dropped and smeared along the protective glass.

The bed seemed to beg her to lay down, so she did, bringing the gun with her, even though she knows she shouldn't. But she can't help the sadness growing within her.

Leaving a tear stain on the pillow, and reaching to the sole picture for comfort, she hated everything.

Without thinking, the gun in her hand rose to just a little below the ear, tilted upwards, and she stole one last breath before pulling the trigger.

la la la la la la la la la la la la la la

la la la la la la la la la la la la la la

la la la la la la la la la la la la la la

Alyson Heart and Doug Hemmington

Side by side, hand in hand

'Till death, do they see love


A/N: My first FP songfic. I think it turned out really well, but I'd like your opinion. So just click that little button down there, leave a review, and then collect your virtual milk and cookies. C: