This was for a writing task of the group Word Play, by tryingtofindthewords.
It isn't quite finished, my "story", but since I'm not sure whether I have the time to upload it any other moment and really wanted to participate with this task, I'll just upload it.
I think it's crap. But here it goes.
He hadn’t even left a note, just left. Had turned his back to life and everything that he loved.
And now was everything that he loved sitting on the same trunk where they’d met two years ago. Feeling just as miserable and lonely as that day, wondering why he’d done it.
No matter where he looked, old memories were coming to the surface. Even the empty bottle of Gin made him think of Oliver.
It had been three months since “the accident”. That’s what they called it at school, though everyone knew it wasn’t an accident. There was no such as an accident around his dead. Oliver didn’t take accidentally too much of what-ever-he-took. He wasn’t a junkie. He’d never done drugs. Gin. Lots of gin But no drugs. He knew what he was doing that night, and he knew it very well.