‘… why didn’t he correct himself afterwards?’

  "Forget it." He put down his half-smoked cigarette and headed out of the room, waving an ‘L’ letter with his fingers for what he thought of me-"loser". I remained on the edge of my chair, breathless.

                Looking up at the ceiling and the big white lights I somehow knew that no one received a second chance- especially me. Even the Devil wouldn’t want to take my soul in exchange for a second chance. It was all wrong I was feeling it with all my senses, the hope was literary dead-no one could bring N. back, he was gone for good.

                And  there I was  three seconds later-sitting in my bed, petrified to the back bone of my soul, with the mad expression of a lunatic on my face-looking at my pale reflection in the mirror , unable to recognise myself. I was struggling to catch my breath but I could calm myself enough.

                I must have screamed because a second later my best friend yanked the door open looking even more terrified than I was. He asked me what was wrong, but I couldn’t answer, I couldn’t even lift my eyes to look at him. He understood me well though so he closed the door quietly, leaving me to my demons.

                I haven’t spoken in two days, since the night we found N. dead in his bedroom. He had killed himself. Why he did that I didn’t quite understand neither then, nor now, but he had given himself to the dark side that’s what I was sure about.

                N. lost his parents when we were little. The only close people he had were his brother and I, so he was family. We grew up together, though he was 5 years older than me. He preferred my company rather than the company of his coevals.

                But he was dead now. ‘Dead and safe’ as he used to say. Because after death no one could harm you.

                When he was alive we used to play a game. N. used to call it the ‘Re-play button’ game. Whenever we got mad at each other and started fighting and calling each other with harsh words and inevitably we ended not talking to one another, we pushed the imaginary Re-play button and we started all over, but without the insults and violent acts of punching one another. I loved this game, because the chance of hurting him was zero, and he was always safe and sound. Because he was so sweet, and protective, and good to me. He was always there. He was my ‘Fire wall’. ‘No viruses in your system, cricket. I promise. As long as we are together nothing bad would happen to you!’

                And now he was dead. And all the viruses broke into my system and crashed it to pieces. I was vulnerable and this time the Re-play button wasn’t working. N.’s last words were still echoing in my head- ‘I’m gonna die, cricket, but you’ll be ok…’ I wanted him to take his words back. I was so mad at him. He promises that “NO ONE” will hurt me, but he was not “No-one” he was N. N. the person who always knew how to correct himself and how make things right.

                Now there wasn’t a Re-play button, because you can’t come back from the grave. This time there was no making up for what we have done wrong. I couldn't take my words back. And I couldn’t make him wake up.

                 The worst thing about reality is that once you’ve done something wrong you can’t undo it and this is killing me. Another chance that is what I am praying for ever since N. killed himself. But a second chance is never given. We are forced to live with what life is giving us…