NIGHT

"You're bleeding, Mike. What's your problem? You could have just given him the damn phone. Let me go get help," I shouted, starting to rise.
He held my arm. "Please don't go. Don't leave me here. I feel so cold inside."
He was sobbing like a baby.
I was adamant. "You're bleeding too much. I can't let you die. Your wound appears deep. Please just let---"
He clenched my sleeves tightly. "Victor, please don't go. Just hold me. I know I'm not gonna last long. I know---"
"Mike, stop! Just stop. You're gonna be okay. Let me just get to the hostel...the clinic. Anywhere." I said, trying to dash off again.
But he still held me. "Just stay," he whispered. "Please."
I settled on the wet ground. I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him.
It was drizzling. The guys that had tried to to rob us were long gone. I hadn't seen their faces. The night was moon-less; the deserted walkway, light-less.
With my small torch I checked my watch for the time. The hour hand was at twelve, the minute hand was at two. Where was I gonna get help? I switched off the torchlight.
"Victor," he whispered. His breathing was fading.
"Yes? Mike, I don't know...I can't believe I'm doing this." I was feeling frustrated, confused and a vast range of other emotions I couldn't describe.
"It's so...so dark. I feel lonely. Please...please don't go." He coughed, blood gushed from his mouth and splattered the collar of his shirt. His white shirt was turning red from the stab wound in his belly. The pungent coppery scent of blood was thick in the air. "I hear whispers. Stay. Just stay with me. Don't
walk out on me the way she did. Please. Please."
I sat on the floor, cradled him on my laps like a child, hugged him tightly, letting his blood soak my clothes too. Then, I let the tears flow.
He hugged me too.
"What whispers?" I asked.
He was quiet, then said, "Thank you, Victor. Thanks."
"Shut up, idiot. I can't believe you talked me into going back to the lodge by this time. I can't believe I'm here with you instead of looking for help. But I don't know why been here feels so right. So, just shurrap."
He tried to laugh, but coughed instead and spewed more blood.
I grabbed his phone - I had left mine in the room - and started making frantic calls. Why hadn't I thought of it earlier? None picked. It seemed sleep and death had an agreement .
His breathing grew more erratic. He said something.
"What?" I replied, lowering my ears to his lips.
"It was...it was...good, good knowing you," he stuttered. His voice bore the mark of a man who was at that veil separating life from death. "Just let me go," he continued. His voice now was unnaturally firm. A bit too clear.
His breath ebbed away slowly. I heard a guttural sound from his throat, then his breathing stopped.
"Michael. Michael? Can you hear me?" I shook him. "Michael? Answer me!"
I placed my right hand on his chest. No pulse. Like hot lava rushing from its confines, a scream rose from the depth of my being.
"Nooooooooo!"