It'd been a really rough week for Chloe, and of course, you as well.

Benny had...

...well, he'd passed.

He didn't make it to his twelfth birthday.

The funeral was two days ago, but it felt like you'd just blinked when you two shared your final few words, and then he was gone. He was an amazing friend, even if the last year of his short life was spent bed-ridden, locked away from the fun every other kid was having.

Though you two had made sure he was never left out, as you'd visited him almost every day, and if one of you couldn't, you always found a way to make it up to ol' Benny.

He didn't talk much–couldn't talk much–so he'd use a typewriter.

In fact, he'd gotten really good at writing in the time he'd used it–heck, he'd written an entire story...

...of the life he wanted to live.

His mother had made her own, detailing how he was perfect, just as he was, and kept both after he passed.

She'd called it, "The Great Life of Benjamin Brynn."

Their home was quiet, though they still tried to hold strong.

Benny had given you–and Chloe–his typewriter before he passed, so the two of you decided you might as well not let it go to waste.

You were both on the beach, where Chloe and Ben had spent the night that one time.

It was special to her, and it made sense why, though what didn't particularly make sense, was why you two decided to go to the beach for this–but oh well.

"C'mon, it can't be that hard to write...! There's no way it could..."

Chloe huffed, eyeing the typewriter behind squinted eyes, them creased with her usual annoyance, because–well–she couldn't write!

She hated school anyway, never paid attention, nor cared–the tomboy she was–but Benny always made it a bit better–you too...

She looked over at you, crossing her arms over her chest, huffing again–she did that a lot.

"Hey! You got any ideas for what we could write...?"