No. Try again. -.-

So a couple of years ago, my friend, Zach called me up. It was like, the middle of the night. Like, 1am or something. “What could you possibly want, nimrod?” I asked. He laughed into the phone and said my mom just bought my Prom tickets online.” I sat up, turned on my light, and said “I didn’t know you were going to Prom.” He went quiet, so I asked “ummm… Okay. So who are you going with?” Again, he was quiet. Then something hit my window, so I told him I had to go, but I would call him back in a minute. He agreed, so I hung up. I walk over to my window, open it, then pop my head out. And when I look down and see Zach, he’s holding a single red rose in a bouquet of white roses. “Will you be my date to Prom,” he asked. I just stared at him… And stared, and stared, and stared. He looked down at the ground and said “this is the part where you say ‘yes’.” I stammered, thinking of how to say it, but I knew that what I had to say would hurt him. “Zach… I love you, but you’re my best friend. I can’t… It would be too weird… I’m sorry. Goodnight, Zachary.” I closed my window, turned off my light, and cried myself to sleep. I felt hurt because I hurt someone I loved. So Prom is the one place I will never go to. Ever.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “No, Thanks.”

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