Dusk Till Dawn

WARNING; This is a graphic story.  May be sensitive to some readers.

I got the idea for this story off of juliafox038711‘s Tik Tok, who made a POV (point of view) video using audio from the song, “Dusk Till Dawn” by Zayn Malik.

I can’t believe her.

Does she remember the night she stayed over a few months ago?  She told me she was depressed and having some really bad days.  I made her promise that she wouldn’t do anything to herself.  I promised myself I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.  She’s my best friend and has stayed with me for almost ten years.  I went through some really hard times, and she saved my life, twice.  I owe her everything.

And now she’s going to kill herself.

I looked into her window, and I saw her in her bedroom, crying.  I wondered what was wrong.  I didn’t think too much of it, as Morada was prone to have crushes on boys who didn’t love her back.  She would cry endlessly over them, sobbing her heart out on my shoulder.  Then ten minutes later, she would jump up with fire in her eyes and say,

“We don’t need anyone, Ida.  We have each other,” she would then look at me with a fierce pride. “That’s all we need.”

I believed her, every time.  So, this time, I waited for about ten minutes.  Of course she couldn’t jump up and say to me that we had each other, but she would stop after a while, right?

But no.  After a half hour, she was still crying, full steam.  There was no sign of her stopping.  I was starting to get kind of worried, so I walked up to her room, my footsteps making no sound.  I went through the door and found Morada on the floor, still sobbing, her cries echoing in the room.  She didn’t even glance at me.

I dropped down beside her instantly and put my arms around her shoulders.  They went unnoticed by her, of course.  She was so distressed, I didn’t know what to do.  She stopped crying suddenly and sat bolt upright.  Her eyes were so bloodshot, her mascara running in rivers.  Her short, black hair was stuck up all over the place, but she didn’t care.

She looked around her room intently, then got up shakily.  I stood up as well, thinking that this is where she would return to her normal self.  But she didn’t.  She walked slowly to her drawer and pulled out a long silver knife.

I almost exploded right then and there.  I screamed, a sound that I’d never heard before, something so raw, so animal that it scared me.  I ran to Morada and knocked the knife out of her hands.  It clattered to the ground and skittered across the floor like a spider, making a noise like nails on a chalkboard as it slid across the tile into the darkness under her bed.  The metal glinted from some unknown light source, taunting me.

I turned back around to Morada, and I found her staring with her mouth wide open in a scream, not making any sound.  She was staring at the place she last saw me fade in and out of the real world.  In my rage, I had been able to become real again, much to my astonishment.  I had been able to move the knife, which I shouldn’t have been able to do.

For you see, I’ve been dead for five months.

I hadn’t taken my teenage years well, and the pressure was too much to deal with.  I had jumped out of a seven-story building and killed myself.  I saw the news reports after, and regretted my decision.  My family and Morada were forced on to news channels and had to talk about my life and my death.  They had to reveal the suicide letters I had written for each and every one of them.  If I could go back, I wouldn’t have killed myself.  It was so hard on my family and Morada.  It was absolutely heartbreaking for me to watch from my otherworldly perspective.  The worst part was that I couldn’t do anything to help them.  It was the worst form of torture, but I suppose I deserve that punishment for what I did to them.

I don’t know what you call this afterlife that I’m living in.  It doesn’t feel like hell, and it definitely isn’t heaven.  I just float between these two worlds, and I feel numb, like my existence doesn’t have any effect on anyone or anything.  I stay close to my family and Morada and watch over them, not able to touch them or move things.  Not able to help them at all.  Until tonight.

I moved things and reappeared to Morada tonight and I don’t know why or how.

I am jolted from my memories into the present when Morada stands up.  She walks purposefully to her closet and I follow, determined to watch her carefully.  She leans down and  takes out another knife.  I cry out, and try to knock the knife out of her hand again, positive I can manage it.  But it doesn’t budge.  Morada looks at the knife like she’s waiting for it to say something.  Maybe it does, because she cuts a deep line in her arm before I can try to take the knife from her again.

I don’t say anything this time; I can’t.  I just stare at all the blood pooling down from Morada’s arm.  She doesn’t flinch at all, just cuts herself again.  The carpet is crimson with her blood.  Finally, I come to my senses and grab the knife and throw it out of the window.

Morada doesn’t react, but watches the knife out the window.  It clatters on the fire escape stairs.  Morada doesn’t look up until the silence hits again.  All we can hear is a few fading sirens and cars in the distance. After a few moments, Morada speaks in a quiet voice.

“Ida, I want this.”

I freeze.  Is she talking to me?

“Ida, I can’t stay here,” she whispers.  “My mom is an alcoholic, my dad is a drug addict, my brother is in jail, and I’ve been doing so badly on all my schoolwork because I’m so distracted all the time.  People bullied me, you know.  When you weren’t around.  They were scared of you, but they knew I was an easy target.  But now, it’s even worse because you’re not around.  Before, I thought I could handle all of that, because you were right here with me.”

A single tear runs down Morada’s face, apparently unnoticed by her.

I’m in shock.  I’ve never heard about any of this.  I didn’t even know that Morada had a brother.  We never hung out at Morada’s house, but I never thought anything of it.  I’ve never been inside her room.  Was this why?

“But then you died.  I cried for a week.  Did you know that?  Did you know what you did to me?” her voice raises almost to a shout, then she chokes.  She lets the tears run silently down her face for a few seconds before she swallows and continues.

“I know you’re there.  I don’t know how.  I can’t tell what you are or where you are but I know you’re there.  I saw you.  I know you can hear me.  So, if you think that I shouldn’t do this, make a sound.”

“Morada, no!” I scream.

She looks towards me and her eyes narrow.

“Say something,” she says, and folds her arms like she used to when we got into arguments.  How stupid those things we fought about seem now.

I try and grasp both her arms, trying to shake some sense into her.  Luck is not my side this time, because my hands go right through her.

“Morada, I watch over you.  I know I killed myself and I hurt you and I’m sorry,” I plead, transparent tears running down my ghostly face.  “I haven’t forgiven myself for what I did to you.  Please, don’t do this.  I’ll hold you when things go wrong.  I’ll be with you from dusk till dawn.”

Morada watches me, or watches the wall behind me, with such intensity that I start to beg with her.

“Please, Morada!” I shout and cry at her, trying with all my heart and soul to touch her, to make her feel some of the anguish I’m feeling. “Don’t do this, I’ll be with you.  From dusk till dawn; I promise!”

“I knew it,” she says in the most disappointed tone I’ve ever heard before.  She unfolds her arms and walks to her window.

I follow, trying to hold her back, screaming and crying and begging her to stop.  But I can’t touch her.  My hands go right through her body and nothing stops her from walking towards her window.

“Baby, I’m right here!” I wail, my lungs protesting.

She crouches at the ledge, and says a few words that I don’t catch because I am crying and yelling so loudly.

She jumps.  I launch myself out of the window after her, and float down to the ground.  I try to catch her, but just like before, I can’t touch her.  She falls right through my arms onto the ground with a sickening crash.  I turn my face to the ground, in shock.  I can’t move.  All I can think about is Morada’s eyes, wide open, glazed over and staring at me like she’s accusing me.  I drop to the ground next to her and bow my head.  I failed.  I tried so hard to save her, and I failed.  She’s dead.

I touch her body gently.  I imagine that she is still warm, though of course I can’t feel her.  I’m still as cold as ice.  I grab her around her waist and pull her onto my lap off of the dirty concrete.  Her bones crack and move under her skin and her blood seeps into my clothes.  This shouldn’t be possible, but then again not many things that happened tonight should have been possible.  I rest my forehead against her chest and imagine her warmth.  Soon, I feel a real heat blowing gently across my face.  I slowly bring my head up to look at Morada’s bruised and bloodied face.

A glowing white substance is leaking from her.

It forms into a pristine replica of the broken girl on the ground before me.  It starts at the feet and glows brighter and brighter until a ghostly Morada is standing in front of me.  She stares at her own fractured body, then turns her eyes to me.  She stares blankly at me for a few moments, then a shock of recognition runs through her.

“Ida?” she says, disbelieving.

I glare at her.  “I was there the whole time.”

Morada’s white hands come up and cover her mouth, her expression one of complete surprise and regret.

“How could you do this to me?” I whisper, looking down at Morada’s body.

“Ida, I’m-”


I stop shouting, breathing hard and look back down at her body.

Opaque tears start to leak out of Morada’s eyes. “I’m sorry, I just-”

She sighs and looks down at her body, too.  “I couldn’t stay here, Ida.  This world is such a messed up place without you.”

I’m not done being angry yet, but I know that I can’t stay mad at Morada. “Listen, I’m mad at you.  I’m hurt, I’m disappointed, and- 

Morada flinches, waiting for me to say something.

“I’m a hypocrite.”

Morada looks up hopefully, but warily.

“I made the same mistake.  I regret my choice each and every second.  But we have to live with our sins now.” I say softly.

She smiles a heartbroken smile.

She hugs me and I hug her back, crystal tears leaking out of my own eyes.


Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this story!

Yours in writing,

Alex Parker

Published by

Alex Parker

Hello! I'm a teenager who loves to read, write, and inspire. My dream is to write something that will inspire people all over the world. Thank you so much for reading and supporting me!!

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