I've posted on here before, but the story I was writing died due to being directionless. I had no idea where to go with it. So I wrote this short piece set in a similar universe as the last story I tried, just to see if anyone would read it. “Ali is dead.” It’s been three years and I’m still not used to saying it. When I first heard, when I was told, I walked out of the room without saying a word. Hours later I was found on the beach, miles from my home. I don’t remember the walk, or anything past “Ali is dead. He was found in the alley behind the school at 6:37.” I always knew that he’d get hurt again if he kept going back there. It hadn’t been six months before he died, when he barely escaped with his life running away from what he later laughed at and called “an unfortunate ordeal”. Ali could do that. He could write off the worst things that ever happened to him as just a minor fluctuation in the not-so-steady rhythm of his life. No matter what happened, he kept his cool. He had to stay calm for Butch and Skyler. They were young, but they could sense when the bad was coming and knew when the terrible had come. But, Ali was able to keep them unconcerned and even happy. He did what I could never do. He could “laugh in the face of danger” just like that old, classic movie about the lions. But laughter, as healthy as it is, can’t stop a six inch blade from cutting through skin. The knife entered, hitting just below the right ventricle, however it was angled weird and it severed the inferior vena cava. He bled to death and it didn’t take long. It was my metachondrics instructor, Dr. Aarons Laersen who brought the news. I had often been the object of many a “funny man’s” jesting, on account that Dr. Laersen was not only my neighbor, but also that he favored me above other students. I took the metachondrics and alchemy classes that were offered by Thaddeus Mason Academy of Paranormal Sciences for three years of the five that I spent there. Dr. Laersen taught me all about the metaphysical parallels to chemistry, anatomy, and biology. He taught me weaving and melding. I was the brightest in the class. By the middle of my second year, I could weave severed skin tissue with a thought. I should’ve thought to stay with Ali that night. But I my stupid, special class instead. Mother was drunk, as usual; Butch and Skyler were with the neighbors, and Ali was off with his friends. The same group of friends that always ended up running from sirens or explosions somewhere in the city. Their nights of vicarious living always ended in the alley way. That’s where the favors were passed. That’s where Ali failed to meet up to his end of the bargain. That’s where he died. --Mainly I'm trying to see if readers enjoy my writing style enough that they would read if I posted more. so what's you think?