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When The Lights Go Out, Will You Take Me With You?

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The wind blew through that night of December, giving a chill atmosphere to the desolated streets of the city. The snow, that in the night before had covered whole highways and neighborhoods in a thick mantle of white, didn't seem to stop that night, sending a new wave of white drops to fall from the sky and into the face of a young boy walking down the frozen streets.

The boy had neither company in his late night walk nor the necessary attire for the conditions that where facing him. He walked down the street with only one layer of clothing, an argyle sweater, black jeans and a black fedora covering his head. Not even a jacket was in possession of the teen.

He walked down the empty road, with only the lights of the lamp posts to keep him warm.

Silent salty drops were falling from his eyes. His hands, arms, and body in general were shaking uncontrollably as he walked, letting the tiredness, frustration and temperature of his body to show to anyone who was looking his way. But he was alone. No one else in the streets. His footsteps leaving the only prints in the snow that night.

Some of the lights in the houses he passed were still on, some of them where off. In them he imagined families having dinner, families sleeping, families enjoying the holidays. Just the things that the boy in the fedora had lost that night.

The tears kept falling to the floor, leaving wet splotches in the streets, where they accompanied the fresh tracks of his shoes. If anybody came looking for him they would just have to follow the path he had made. But he was certain that nobody will come looking for him. Not that night. He was alone now.

Slowly the fatigue he felt after walking for so long and the hypothermia that was bit by bit invading his body were too much and the boy fell on his knees to the concrete full of snow. Broken sobs escape his body while in desperation he cried. Water fell down his swollen, red cheek in a moment of defeat. Disappointment, self-hatred and an immense feeling of wrongness in himself attached to the deep feeling of pain, emotional and physical, that he had been feeling since the beginning of the night.

He couldn't give up though, not now where he was near his destiny. Not now.

With a deep sigh he decided to get back on his feet. His legs where aching, his muscles were too tired to work properly and his vision was starting to get blurry in the edges, but was determined to stand up. With a lot of difficulty he managed to rise, and commanded his feet to move. With little steps, that made his heart-beat and breathing faster, he advanced through what was left of the street, to the big house in the corner. His destination.

Nobody, in that night that seemed peaceful to everybody in their house, where the sky was full of stars that could still be seen despite the snowflakes that where falling, where the moon glowed high in the top of everything, saw the poor boy. He was alone. He felt alone.

At last, the boy in the fedora could see with unfocused vision the fire that was lit, through the window. He could see the decoration that he had helped to hang at the beginning of the winter. He could see the snow man that had put the nose to, earlier that day. He could finally see that door with little doorbell on the right.

With a little laugh of mad man he climbed the stairs that led to the door, even tough with each step he could feel his breaths getting shallower and his pulse dangerously dropping. He didn't feel cold anymore. In fact, he didn't feel anything at all. He was numb.

In the end he could do something right, and he thought that if he died that night, he could be at least satisfied that he managed to get to his destination.

He rang the doorbell. Once. Twice. And still no answer. Maybe the family in the house was asleep and he was just interrupting their night. The boy knew he was interrupting their sleep, that it was too late in the night for any soul to be awake this night of winter.

He was about to give up, and go back to the bench he saw while walking, there he could die without being a big burden, when the door fell open.

In the door, another boy with a black fringe of hair and purple pajamas stood in shock. The fedora boy's blue eyes met the shocked warm brown eyes of the other boy and smiled softly.

"Patrick" The boy from the house whispered in astonishment and horror at the conditions of the boy that was now so pale that his skin resembled the blizzard of outside.

"P-pe-te, my p-parents kn-know about u-u-us" Was the only thing the boy could stutter in response, his whole body shivering, before collapsing in the other boy's arms.

All the exhaustion and the pain he felt that night came to be too much. He could feel his eyes closing, and he thought dying was okay now that he was in the arms of the boy he loved. His Home. The last thing he heard was his name being screamed before he drifted into the blackness of unconsciousness.