And you thought fanfiction couldn't make you cry haha lol nah

PHILIPS POV

1,2,3,4,5,6,7, a gunshot. A gunshot? At seven? But that isn't allowed... My memories since that moment are blurred and unreachable. Now I seem to be lying on a bed with... A hole in my stomach? What is going on? My eyes are closed. They don't want to open just yet.

I hear my father rushing in, followed shortly by my mother, both frantically asking the doctor if I will survive. The answer? Well... It's basically "He has a chance". I remember now what happened; with Eaker. He shot me in a duel. He shot on 7, which isn't allowed. My father runs over to me. "Philip! Philip..." My eyes are willing to open slightly, to see him. "I... I did what you told me..." I say, quietly. He's crying, like I'm already dead. "I know, I know. Shh." I force my head to move and look up at him.

My vision is blurred slightly, but I can still see a little. The whole world is tinted white. I've seen it before. I've seen that white before. Where? Then I know. "Pa, I remember... I remember..." I whisper. I don't think he hears me. My mother stands over me now, too. She is crying, too. But this white. I know where I've seen it. At my birth, I remember being born! When the bright white was all I could see... And then it faded out. When I came into this world. Now I exit. With the same white.

"Am I going to die?" "No," my father says, "no, this is just a bad dream. Soon you'll wake up. Soon it'll all be over, and you will wake up for another day of your life" I have to force air in and out, in and out. "Yes..." I whisper, with every ounce of strength I have, "Just a dream. Just a bad dream" I can't think straight. I can't see my parents standing over me. All I can see is white, the same white I saw 19 years ago as I came into the world. Now I see it again, as I leave. It completely covers my vision. I hear my mother push my father out of the way. "We played piano," she says quietly, "I taught you French," she cries. I can't create voice anymore, I simply mouth, "One last time?" I can't tell if she nods or not. She says, "Un deux trois, quate, cinq, six, sept," I join in as well, pushing out the last of my voice. I can't finish the phrase as I am lifted out of the pain that is my body, my life.

"Un, deux, trois..."