Well, then, have some more.
Evan looked up at the sky and, for the first time in a good while, beamed happily. "I'M IN LOVE!" he shouted to no-one in particular, "Today is my lucky day!"
He hopped onto his bicycle and cycled out the front gate, whistling a merry tune to himself. He didn't even see the bus, and by the time he did, he was already on the floor.
-----
Patricia returned to her seat on the balcony and resumed sipping her lemonade. He was quite a nice boy. A little odd, but then, a lot of working class folk were. No harm done. Poor boy, he was probably suffering at home. His parents must have neglected him. Why else would he have such old, rumpled clothinng? Even though he looked to be at least a year older than herself, Patricia couldn't help but feel sorry for him.
Maybe I should go give him some money, she thought to herself, Perhaps I'll invite him in and give him something to eat. Poor fellow's so skinny. He mustn't have eaten in days.
Humming merrily to herself, she made her way to the front door and strolled down along the driveway. It was only when she reached the gates that she saw him. With a shocked gasp, she ran over to him and knelt beside his body. The traffic had ceased to move. People had gathered around to look. The mangled bike, warped and crunched, lay dead on the road. And beside it was the delivery boy. Patricia gazed at his limp body, a steady stream of blod trickling from the gash on his forehead. He was lying deathly still.
And, for reasons she couldn't quite understand, Patricia felt a single teardrop roll down her cheek.
-----
Everything was spinning. It was like one of those carousel rides at the fun fair, except for the throbbing sensation in his head. The shouting was normal, though. People often shouted on the carousel, usually folk who had been drenched in vomit and wanted desperately to get off. Evan wanted to get off.
Please?
It was still spinning. Damn. He tried to make out the figures surrounding him, but his eyes refused to co-operate. Was he even concious anymore? Maybe he was dreaming about something. The many colourful blobs in his vision swirled and expanded, spun and condensed. It was like looking into a kaleidoscope. Except with lots of yelling and mumbling.
He felt something touch his chest. Too light to be somebody's hand. It felt...warm. Warm and comforting. And, because Evan was wearing a single, very thin shirt, he could feel the moisture. It was a droplet. A single droplet.
Evan wondered who was dripping water onto him, and everything went black.
-----
"You sure there's nothin' we c'n do to 'elp 'im, doc?"
"I'm arfraid not, Mrs. Butler. Your son is as good as dead."
"Ah. Terrible shame, that. Right, love?"
"'Tis. Gonna 'ave to pay f'r a fun'ral now an' ev'rythin'."
"Mr. and Mrs. Butler, your son is dying."
"Well, s'not like we asked for 'im. I was too drunk to remember anythin'. Damn fruity machine."
"Dr. Brown, there's a young lady hear to see the patient."
"Send her in, nurse."
"Oi, then, 'oo's this pretty li'l princess?"
"Were you pokin' around our Evan, then? Was it you done this?"
"No, I'm just...I'm just a friend."
"Friend me arse. I betcha you were the one drivin' the truck what done this."
"It was a bus, actually."
"What's that, love?"
"I said it was a bus, you self-absorbed bastard!"
"Hey, don't you go givin' my 'usband that cheek of yours, young lady."
"Mr. and Mrs. Butler, I'm going to have to ask you to leave..."
"What? It's this posh li'l brat what's givin' us trouble!"
"I said leave, please. Now."
"Alright, alright, we're goin'. Useless piece of..."
"Good riddance. Wake up...please, wake up..."
Wake up.
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