A Year Without Johnny

Harry Mitchell is a young boy whos best friend commited suicide. Since the event, even more terrible situations have come to pass and Harry is left making heart wrenching decisions. This is his letter that lets you into his life, his thoughts and feelings, as he lives a year without Johnny.

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6. Five months without Johnny

“I want you to have this, Harry.” Johnny smiled as he handed me his ‘Fender’ guitar plectrum, placing it into my palm, wrapping my fingers around it.

“You want me to have your plectrum?” I questioned, gazing up at him from where I sat. “Why?”

He gazed around briefly, catching eyes with a girl close by us. “Because you’re my best mate and I want you to have this,” he muttered. “It’s always been my lucky charm and I would like for you to have it.”

My alarm sounded, making me jump, and I was quick to turn it off. I didn’t want to get out from the warmth; even it would have meant missing Lizzie’s show.

I thought back to my dream. I can remember that day so clearly, when Johnny gave me his plectrum after his show at the Stanley Park band stand. He and a few of his friends played there every so often.

I walked over to my chest of draws, opening the top draw, pulling out a small box. Inside was the plectrum. I hadn’t looked at this in months and the site of it saddened me, a lot.

I got dressed as speedily as humanly possible and left for Lizzie’s show, placing the plectrum in my pocket. This was my first mistake. My second mistake was trying to be nice to my mother new boyfriend, though you’ll understand this later, and my third, showing the plectrum to Lizzie and allowing her to look after it, for luck.

The show was going well at first and from where I was sitting, which was of course front row, everything looked perfect. Then the worst happened. The giant projector froze, everyone’s eyes watching it as it appeared to be broken. It wasn’t broken.

Abruptly, the screen started up again but this time with different footage. It was that video. That dreaded video that a mere bystander had filmed as he noticed the boy on top of the building, the boy that jumped.

“Johnny.” That was all Lizzie said as she watched in horror, the video repeating itself, time and time again. That was when she ran out crying. Me and Ricky were quick out of our seats to find her and when we did, it was horrifying.

Lizzie stood, knife in hand, held to her throat. Tears were running a marathon down her face, her eyes lost, already drained. Three people stood around her. I knew none of them, I still don’t, but I spoke to them anyway. I warned them not to step any closer to her.

Slowly, I approached Lizzie. She was shaking like mad and, I am positive, I must have been too. I asked her to look at me and she did so willingly. Then I walked closer, my hands raised by the side of my head. The entire room fell silent.

“Lizzie?” I uttered. “Look, it’s just me. Please don’t do anything stupid. Everything’s okay.”

“I’m scared, Harry.” She cried. “I’m so scared.”

“I’m scared too,” I whispered, slowly stepping in front of her. “I’m scared that you’ll do something stupid and then I’ll lose you, but I won’t let that happen. Okay?” I gazed at her for a moment before reaching out for the knife carefully so she could see what I was doing. For a second, she held on tight and I didn’t think she’d let go but, eventually, her grip loosened and I pulled the knife away from her. I threw it to the ground.

Quickly, I pulled her into a hug, holding her firmly, caressing her back with my hand. She hugged back, feeling almost as tense as I was. I lowered myself to the floor, pulling Lizzie with me, and I held her in my arms for what felt like forever.

“I’m sorry,” she said, still crying.

“It’s okay, Lizzie.” I murmured. “It isn’t your fault.”

Ricky came over eventually and the other people disappeared, I think, I wasn’t really paying attention to anyone but Lizzie. It was then, as we sat with her backstage as she cried, that we discovered the absence of Johnny’s guitar plectrum. Someone stole it. Of course, to say I was furious would be a dramatic understatement.

Lizzie told me that it must have been Hayley. She claimed she could feel it and I could feel it too. I spent most of my time after this trying to figure out a way of getting that plectrum back and I became so caught up in it that I didn’t even notice that Lizzie didn’t come out, at all.

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