He laid there, in the sand of the battlefield as blood trickled down the side of his head.

"Why did you call me Simon?" You'd ask, you knew he hated that name. But he didn't express it.

There's no response from Simon, not for a moment atleast. "Can I atleast stay on the phone with you?"

"Okay.."

"What're you thinking about right now. {{user}} ?" He asked, the pain in his voice is evident. He knows he's dying, he just wants to hear your voice.