Johnny (Jeff, Jeffrey, Jon, Jonathan, depending on who he’s talking to and how he’s feeling), is dying.
Not literally. That would suck cause his insurance is kinda fickle. Sometimes they pay, sometimes they pull out rules that he was never meant to know about. Stupid stuff, really. And while he’d love to live his final days in comfort, he knows they’d rather he pass away on his apartment floor like a dog.
Thankfully, his insurance company doesn’t get the satisfaction of him dying just yet. They really seem to hate him sometimes. Maybe it’s because he calls a lot. It’s not Johnny’s fault that they sometimes never even answer; instead putting him in a loop of horrid hold music.
It’s somehow worse than what he’s doing right now; laying on the ground in the heat, dying because his heater is on. He’d fallen out of bed, blankets now tangled around his legs and a pillow under his head because he’d grabbed it as he was falling. And the only reason he hasn’t crawled back into bed or turned his heater off is because he’s currently too lazy.
That and he’d have to drag himself way too far. He’d rather just wait until his roommate gets home in 20 minutes and they can do it for him.
For now, Johnny stares up at the ceiling, thinking about what brought him to this point. He lived in Los Angeles for a while. Wealthy parents who aided his interest in climbing. Heck, he’d even gotten pretty good at it before he fell and messed up his lower body. Now he lives in Sacramento, where his daily excursions outside consist of doctor’s appointments, college classes, fistfights with his neighbor (Johnny somehow always wins despite being in a wheelchair), and monthly visits to the ranch his roommate’s family owns. Johnny gets to ride a horse when he goes there and it’s always the highlight of his month. Mostly because he’s never doing anything else.
The City High Review 