My Friend Tim
There was once a boy named Timothy; I say once out of past tense. His nose pudgy, skin creme, and freckles light. He had red hair, and blue eyes like the sky. Timothy wouldn't dare to hurt anyone. Though his decisions influenced his actions, leading to the purpose of this literature-d attempt, this is for Tim.
We grew up together, and he was always there. If not I would call him, so the weekends we would share,
"How many people do you think would consider life fair?" He would ask me many times, just with different synonyms and such. "Many citizens don't have much, yet they act as so we should feel guilty for being selfish and lust." Timothy was often quiet, but he would speak the sentences he questioned,
Like, "How many choices in life for others do you think were destined?" It hurts me to think about the way he used to state, the things that would come to his mind; yet he would always look away.
With a fear that showed he had once gone through these things, that he'd privately just said something, but it was out loud to me. That what ever it is he had went through, he hadn't wanted me to see, yet the things that he would say and ask; would lead me to believe-
"Was it him that got picked on and spat on or kicked on whenever he'd gotten the chance to shine? Was Tim the only kid that actually did step into the fights that I were in; and draw a line? How many people were like Tim? I continue to ask myself, That were always willing to lay down their lives? In hopes that it would help someone else rise?
The thought of it would make me want to cry, but only once I did in his presence. When he spoke his last words and I talked as I wondered whether or not he would live, and from the doctors' evidence it was very evident that he only had a few minutes left. But those minutes were taken away from me, as the car drove away and I stood in misery. The sirens screaming as my eyes watched the doctors and param-eds run around and as they fled,
I figured would I ever cry that hard again. Besides the cry that was dropped before my mother's death. She passed the same way, but joyfully and I bet- That the peaceful look on Timothy's face showed that he wasn't scared that he had faith, throughout all of that trouble and mess.
I remember falling to the ground and screaming until the chords gave out in my neck, "Why did he have to be in that wreck!" Another vehicle arrived, and I was picked up by one of the men. "Help her, c'mon!" He yelled towards the others that ran over like jets. My vision was fine, and my breathing was to, or at least I can't remember. My thoughts were on how my best friend would survive, my friend Tim that day in September. "I surrender God!" And, "Really I'm fine!" Were the words my mind had yelled without a try. And "Just!- Please let me see him!" Were the words I choked out, not ready for Tim to die. "We've got to get you to the hospital in time, I'm sorry kid, just as well your life is on the line." He said as I was rushed into the van or the truck. The doors shut, I recall, and so did my eyes as my tears would fall.
We arrived and I lied in a different room than him. "We need a medical doctor and another surgeon, quick!" One of the people yelled, his voice faded in the hall, "The boys name is Timothy, and his friend's name is Elizabeth." Someone whispered as they speed-walked, as I was being helped I think that all I did was talk. I only spoke paragraphs full of hope, knowing that Timothy had always been strong.
"I won't be gone for long." He said before the wheel turned and the window-shield burst, he sighted the crash coming first as the car spun rapidly, the empty bridge making it turn and turn. I was in shock, couldn't move a muscle, though he knew we wouldn't get out of it, so Timothy hustled. He quickly wrapped my seat belt around me and when it buckled I noticed that he wasn't in his driver seat. "You'll live Liz," he stated before the car spun wildly over the edge, I knew that I was dizzy in the car though I wondered what was going on in his curious head. The car stopped; as well as my thoughts when I saw him laying in front of me, piled underneath some of the car debris. "Timothy?" I stated blacking out for about enough time to wake up in the same situation, and yes I cried. I thought that we were going to die, in the car, in the hospital, when they rolled me into the quiet room that was blue and white. When my father nodded at me and the doctor that wanted to tell me the news had started to cry. She just looked at me when I opened my eyes, not sure if I had fainted in bed or if sleep medicine had calmed my insides. "H-He's in a better place now." I thought to myself, but the thought only sounded like something Tim would say to me, like "You'll find a way Liz." Or, "Cheers to best friends for eternity." He'd say that when ever we would eat outside, but that short story was cut shorter by my rage and out-cry, "It was all my fault!" A phrase that will always be in my mind, but losing Timothy has taught me something in life.
You will always have a friend that will ask you questions and give you rhetorical answers, or a friend that doesn't say much but still loves you in some kind of manner. Never will you be alone, so don't you ever so think that taking your life is the definition of defeat. That, is failure, the opposite of taking the time to think; letting your thoughts consume you and giving up before you've reached full capacity, of your understanding. You are unique in many ways, do not let what someone else might say, take that gift away. Cherish your friends, I say this because loosing your life is only loyal if you are saving someone in the process, or it's been taken from you. So give it your all, even when you know when you are going to fall because your actions will change someones life in the end. My best friend Tim did,
Poem by: Turquoise Ink-Pen.
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