Whoops you inspired me (iām so sorry)
Richie stood in the graveyard, staring at the ground. The grave didnāt even have a headstone yet, just one of those small plastic placeholder cards, which honestly kind of made him feel like he was at some sort of fucked up art exhibit. Welcome to the worldās worst museum, we hope youāre emotionally traumatized by the experience. Richie chuckled dryly to himself, although he didnāt really find it funny. It was hard to find anything funny anymore.
āHey, asshole,ā Richie muttered to the ground beneath him, āwhatever jackass put this name tag up couldnāt even be bothered to spell your name right. You shall now and forever be known as Eddie Kasbrak, unless of course somebody calls the fuckin stone masons or whoever the hell and tells them that thereās actually supposed to be a āpā somewhere in there.ā
Richieās mouth twisted into something that might have been a smile.
āI just nearly made maybe the best dick joke the world would have ever seen, but I figured you wouldnāt like that, and I donāt want you going to the effort of digging yourself out of there just to tell me Iām an idiot. Believe me, I know.ā
Richie felt his throat start to ache, and he struggled to swallow. Blinking rapidly, he reached into his pocket, fingers wrapping around a small tube of plastic.
āYou wonāt believe what I found.ā
He held up the object in his hand.
āItās one of your old inhalers. Actually, it was in the pocket of an old jacket of mine. I always carried it around with me, just in case. I know you had that epiphany or whatever and didnāt need that stuff anymore, but if your stupid lungs ever decided to become shit bags again, I wanted to be ready.ā Richie meant to laugh, but the sound that came out was more like a sob. He felt his chest tighten.
āOf course, I guess it doesnāt really matter now, does it? Stanās gone, youāre gone, the whole thingās a shitshow.ā Richie struggled to take a breath. āBut, hey! At least we finally killed that fucking clown, right Eds? Apparently thatās what really matters, y'know, big picture and all that shit, but Iām not exactly over the moon down here on earth.ā
Richie laughed, but he felt tears running down his face.
He choked in a breath, feeling his legs give out from under him. He gripped the inhaler painfully tight, and slowly fell forward until his forehead touched the earth, his free hand digging into the dirt. His chest heaved, and he felt like he might throw up.
He spoke, and his words were shaky and garbled. āIām about to say something stupid, so brace yourself.ā Richie tried to take a deep breath, but it wouldnāt come. āIād give anything to have you back, Eds,ā A sob ripped through him. āFucking anything. Fuck this town, Eds, the clown can fucking have it. It doesnāt matter, none of it matters, not if youāre not here.ā
Richie was shaking, sobbing. āIād take it back. Iād take it all back, if you came back too.ā
Richie started laughing, and his breath choked him. āI canāt breathe, Eds. I canāt fucking breathe, and youāre not here. I canāt breathe, but Iām still talking. I donāt know how to fucking shut up, and youāre not here to show me how. All Iāve got is this fucking inhaler.ā
Richie sat up, his face streaked with tears and dirt. āYou think itāll help me? I donāt think so, the only person it ever helped was you.ā
He set the inhaler on the ground, just underneath the nameplate. āIāll leave it here for you, Eds. And shit, Iāll call those fuckin headstone people and make sure theyāre spelling your goddamn name right.ā Ā He stood up, and stared down at the nameplate and inhaler. He shook his head, swallowing another sob. āIāll see you later, Eddie Kaspbrak.ā He smiled sadly, and chuckled humorlessly to himself. āFucking loser.ā
*** Fixed a couple typos that were bugging me
