"What Can I Do?"...

... I said with a panicked rush.

"I don't know," Daniel, oh! what a great failure she was, cried in horror, half for her friend and the other for her guilt.

I continued pressing my body weight on the towel between my own hands and the bullet hole threw Steven's chest. For it was all I could do. No, it was all I should do. I could do more. Cry, yes, crying would be something I was capable of, but in this company I remained resolved. Crying was best left to the victim's wife and soon-to-be murderer.

Those green eyes, which possessed so much beauty, looked straight up at me, not with a look of sadness, fear, or agony, but rather, with a look of relief and thankfulness. I could cry out to him, "Do not thank the bitch which done this to you," but I shouldn't, for the gun that expelled the painful metal into his skin, would just as easily produce an object which would pierce my own, if Daniel was given a reason to fire it at me. I remained quiet as Steven, lover to both Daniel and myself, ceased to breath life.

Still, I remained contained.

---

Egads-bldijgaskejg;s...

Eh, I was told I should write everyday if I really want to be good. And today, I just wrote. I've been a bit down this week, so I wanted to write something emotional and depressing. So I did. It's shit, but at least it's written. I've done my daily practice and now am going to bed.

Comment if you desire to.

Although, there are cookies in it if you do.

Aaron; Emo isn't a style, it's a way of life.