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Manga Creations / Morphine-A short story
« on: February 21, 2018, 11:06:46 PM »
A little something I fished out of my discarded drafts. One day I want to write a novel about Isolda.
Spoiler
She doesn't call often.
It’s for good reason. They've never had a very sentimental friendship over their decade and a half knowing each other, even though he's helped her over the biggest bumps in the road, and vice versa. That's not to say they don't care dearly for each other, but calling had always seemed unnecessary, especially with the frequent texts sent back and forth.
But when her name pops up on the caller ID, there's no thought in his mind of turning her down, even though it's a Friday night after a long week of school and he’s in the middle of a competitive shooter. She doesn't call often, but when she does, it's usually dire.
“Hey,” He picks up, though he's immediately concerned when she replies with a small, hoarse ‘hello’ rather than her usual lighthearted greeting. “Iso, are you okay?”
“Y-yeah.” Despite her words, her voice is very much not okay, riddled with breathless tears that haven't yet been shed. His heart skips a beat, and he switches off the game and mutes the TV. “Isolda, what's going on?”
“N-nothing, I just wanted to-"
“Bull*censored*,” He interrupts her meek excuse, his own voice dead serious, and perhaps a little harsher than he wants it to be. “Isolda. Tell me what happened. Now.”
She hesitates for a long moment, and he waits patiently, until suddenly, her slight breaths become laboured and she breaks down in tears. It hurts him to hear her cry like so, and he muses a sympathetic ‘Isolda…’ into the phone as she sobs, her explanation broken and her voice hitching on every second inhale. He listens all the same, holding onto her every word, knowing he can't cure her, but he can perhaps be her morphine, at least for a little while.
It’s for good reason. They've never had a very sentimental friendship over their decade and a half knowing each other, even though he's helped her over the biggest bumps in the road, and vice versa. That's not to say they don't care dearly for each other, but calling had always seemed unnecessary, especially with the frequent texts sent back and forth.
But when her name pops up on the caller ID, there's no thought in his mind of turning her down, even though it's a Friday night after a long week of school and he’s in the middle of a competitive shooter. She doesn't call often, but when she does, it's usually dire.
“Hey,” He picks up, though he's immediately concerned when she replies with a small, hoarse ‘hello’ rather than her usual lighthearted greeting. “Iso, are you okay?”
“Y-yeah.” Despite her words, her voice is very much not okay, riddled with breathless tears that haven't yet been shed. His heart skips a beat, and he switches off the game and mutes the TV. “Isolda, what's going on?”
“N-nothing, I just wanted to-"
“Bull*censored*,” He interrupts her meek excuse, his own voice dead serious, and perhaps a little harsher than he wants it to be. “Isolda. Tell me what happened. Now.”
She hesitates for a long moment, and he waits patiently, until suddenly, her slight breaths become laboured and she breaks down in tears. It hurts him to hear her cry like so, and he muses a sympathetic ‘Isolda…’ into the phone as she sobs, her explanation broken and her voice hitching on every second inhale. He listens all the same, holding onto her every word, knowing he can't cure her, but he can perhaps be her morphine, at least for a little while.