Stan, you’ve got to get up! We’ve got to go home.
I do NOT want a Lion King dearth.
I’m 25 and I still cry at Mufasa’s death.
“Stan?” Ford asked dropping to
his knees by the body on the floor, some part of him knows it’s pointless.
Stan’s fine! He’s fine! He’s just acting again. This is
one of his jokes. He just wants ford to admit he cares, “Stan, come on.”
So much blood…
“You’ve got to get up,” Ford’s voice
is pleading as he pulls at Stan’s arm, desperate for his brother to open his
Ford knows Stan is going to get to his feet at any second now and laugh.
He’ll probably say something stupid the, ‘You
should’a seen your face, Sixer! Like any demon could hurt me.’ Ford won’t
even be angry at Stan for scaring if he’ll just open his eyes and get up.
“Stan, we gotta go home,” Ford’s
voice cracks and tears sting his eyes as he shakes his brother’s body.
He gets to his feet looking
around desperately. It isn’t too late. It can’t
be. If Ford can just find someone in time everything will be alright. Stan
isn’t… he can’t be.
“Help!” Ford yells as loudly as
he can but only his own voice echoes back, “somebody, anybody.” His voice drops at almost a whisper as the tears fall
harder, between the sobs he whispers a last hopeless, “Help.”
He can’t pretend anymore. His Stan
is dead and it’s all Ford’s fault. The fight goes out of him. Ford collapses next
to his brother and hugs his body as if that will bring him back.
Ford cries until he had no more
tears left. There is an emptiness in inside. He doesn’t know how long he lies
there. If Stan can’t get up then why should he?
A high pitched inhuman voice startles
him, “Polydactyly, what have you
done?” Ford doesn’t need to look around to recognise Bill’s amused voice.