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Dave's P.O.V.

Kurt's funeral was painful. I could barely stand a minute without wanting to brawl my eyes out from crying. I couldn't stand it. Everyone wanted to cry. But no one came. It was only me, Krist, and our manager. Kurt's uncle came, but shortly left because he couldn't take it any longer. We got these pictures of him from his parents after the burial. One of him as a child. So young. So innocent.

There was no wake. Just us and Kurt's coffin being buried. I sang 'Heart Shaped Box' to Kurt before he was buried. I knew it was his favorite of our songs. Krist attemped to sing 'Smells like Teen Spirit', but couldn't. His words were to shaky to understand. But I knew Kurt aperishated it.


I am now done with Nirvana. Kurt's been dead for years now. Krist left and started another band. But he's no where as good as my band. I am now the leader singer, and frontman, of The Foo Fighters. We are so famous. Almost like when I was with Nirvana. I still dream of Nirvana. The way we used to be.

But my dreams always turn dramaticly at the end. Kurt is in nearly all my dreams. But he's always hidding. Wither the dream is from when we were in Nirvana or when we were kids. He was always hidding. But from what?


. ave's Dream:. (' =speach, "=thought)

'Kurt! Come out come out where every you are!' I was ranning through a junk yard for old cars. We and Kurt were playing hide-and-seek. I heard a piece of metal fall. "There you are!"

I ran and ran until I found Kurt. He was only about 10 at the time. His smile was so innocent. So pure. He started laughting. 'You have to catch me!' With that, he turned and ran with all his force. I followed.

He ran around a corner to an alley. It was dark, but I still followed. "I can't see. It's so dark." 'Kurt! Come out! It's to dark! We'll get hurt!" I giggle. Hurt Kurt. Hehe. They rythem. I heard a noise. A kinda mechanical noise. For some reason, I feel scaried. Maybe Kurt found some machine of some sort and was playing with it. Then... I hear a bang.

I start to sprint screaming Kurt's name as I do. Then I see a bright light. I go to it. But I regret not waking up.

Standing in the middle of the light is Kurt. He's older now. So am I. Now we're the ages we were when Kurt... um... you know. I feel like screaming. Kurt is dead! His face is bloody. Blood is streaming down from his eyes sockets. No eyes in them. He's also bleeding from his forehead and temple. His clothes is bloody. He's wearing the coat he always did. But it is drenched in blood. A pair of angel wings are popping out of his back.

He smiles. He opens his jacket to show his black and red striped shirt. But it has a dark blackish spot near the stomach. He lefts his shirt, and I wish he hadn't. He lifted it. And almost automaticly, his internal organs spill onto the floor. They start steaming as they rotted.

His voice is shallow. But I hear him. 'Why'd you turn the lights on, Dave? I don't need food anymore.' I can't help but look at his stomach. It is completely missing. The flesh and (very little) fat is not exceting. The ends ripped. I can see his ribs near the top, under some left over skin.


Normal (' =thoughts, "=speach)

I awake with a start. I had another dream of Kurt. I feel tears streaming down my face. I miss Kurt. I sit on the side of my bed. I hold my head in my hands. Maybe I should just go to a therapist and have them suck my memories of Kurt out. I star at the floor thinking. Then I see a folder sticking out from under my bed.

I pull it out and look at it. It is a black folder with 2 white lines going down it. I open it. Tears begin to stream out of my eyes. It's Kurt's drawing folder. I see within it many drawings of human parts. Heads, feet, arms, etc. They're so amazing. I always knew Kurt drew, but so many!

Then I find the most important one. The last one is a picture of an angel. It looks just like Kurt. The most beautiful wings. A simple but gorgious halo adorns his head. His hands are folded in a symbol of prayer.

On the bottom, is his suicide note.

He had this note when we found him dead. He had been planning this. For a long time! There was a date on the back. March 18 1993. About a year and a month before his death.

I miss him. And I dream of him. I'm sorry for not being there.

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