Hard Earned Trust

“Hey Roy! Come over here! I found the perfect spot,” said Arnold, my lifelong best friend. We had met in 3rd grade, and became friends pretty quickly. As the years went on, we had our fair share of ups and downs, and were there for each other all the way. Like when I got depressed, and he helped me pull through, or how I was there for him when he got brutally dumped. Long story short, we grew a bond of friendship and trust that ran deeper than even our attachment to our parents. I can’t speak for him, but he has been the closest person to me for many years now. As he has done with me, I have shared with him my secrets, my talents; my life.

“Coming!” I replied. Today, we decided to go back out into the woods. There was a project we were working on that used our combined talents. Unlike Arnold, one of my larger talents lie in linguistics- I could conform to any accent, and have learned bits of tons of languages. Arnold, on the other hand, specialized in making things without any tools from stuff on the ground and in the trees.  Like this one time when he made a trampoline out of a ton of vines, a few branches and some stumps. I helped him with the last bits, so I thought we should head out into the forest and make a makeshift house together all the way. Not all at once, but today we figured we could at least do the walls and ceiling; the floorboards were doe already. For now, it was a surprise for our parents, and we planned to tell them about it once the ceiling was done and proved to be up against rain, like the floor. We managed to make the floor airtight, with a trap door that opened into a really deep well that had been long abandoned and dry. All and all, it was coming along wonderfully, and we could tell it was going to look beautiful when finished.

“Alright I’m here! And perfect for what?” I asked. Arnold had this look on his face- it meant that he had decided on something, and that he’d do it with no regrets. Usually he puts on that face when he’s about to prank me with something. The last time he did that, he tricked me into getting my shirt right into the path of a bleach water balloon. Thank goodness that shirt was plain and one colored, because now it’s an off shade of white. So, I stood there, waiting calmly for whatever he was going to throw at me.

“For this.” And he took out a large kitchen knife and rammed it into me- straight into the heart.

I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I tried to ask why, but no sound came out. The pain was overwhelming, and that was before he had the knife do a 360 in my chest, effectively ripping my blood pumping organ to shreds and even popping some of the major arteries and veins. Then he said something that I couldn't believe.

“I’m not sorry for this.”

That’s right about when it hit me that he had just utterly betrayed me. Something in me shattered, and it wasn't any of my ribs.

And then he kicked me into the well. As I fell, I could see him close the trapdoor, and seal it shut with something. Then he walked away.

The well turned out to be pretty damn deep, because I finished dying just as I hit the bottom, head first. Death was a strange sensation; when all your organs shut down and your blood stops flowing, your brain is somehow still allowing for conscious thought. It felt like absolute silence, and not just from lack of noise.

I decided to just let my mind lose itself, as I would when I fall asleep, even knowing that this time I may never regain it. I didn't care anymore. But before I did, I let one thought tear through my mind: ‘I will never have a friend or even trust ever again.’