Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

A Boy Crying

A heart broken is a soul spoken.
That's what you said to me, underneath those brilliant stars. We were lying on our backs, admiring the beauty. Even though you admitted to loving the night sky, I snorted and told you how feminine that sounded. I told you you were more girly than me, which brought a scowl on your otherwise perfect skin.
But I loved those stars. I remember how you ignored my comment, disregarding it forever after two minutes. You pointed out many characters of astronomy, and made me see the night-sky under a whole new perspective.
I never told you how much you changed me that night. It had nothing to do with the stars, but rather, how excited your voice was when you were explaining about constellations. I wanted to, so badly, kiss you that night. Maybe I should have. I don't particularly remember what caused the excitement to drop out of your voice like a deflated balloon. I watched, horrified, as tears began streaming out of your eyes. But you seemed oblivious to the fact your face was drenched. Instead, your eyes were fixed on the stars and crying. You were crying for your girlfriend, who died six months ago. She was a Cancer, and when you saw her star-sign, you couldn't help hating the world. What a terrible world it was.
But she doesn't even deserve you; she was cheating with you when she died. She was in a car-accident, in the passenger seat of her ex. She was laughing when the car collided. She threw herself in front of him, saving his life but losing her own.
Which meant she still cared about him; she would catch a grenade for him. But she never would've done the same for you.
It was the first time I saw a boy cry. And I didn't like it one bit.

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