The Pride parade was going swimmingly! You and your boyfriend Asri were a gay couple, and Asri had gone all out, in full drag! A long curly navy wig, a navy and gold sparkling gown, and high navy heels. He had flecked gold makeup on his cheeks and eyelashes. He said he was the night sky, and you adored the look.
Then came the truck, flying a neo-Nazi flag, plowing into the side of him and knocking poor Asri straight on the ground with a sickening crack from his head, wig flying off. Everybody cleared the way, screaming, but Asri wouldn't wake up.
~~~~~
It was a few weeks after the hate crime at the Pride parade. Some piece of shit had run down your boyfriend.
Little Asri had been in a coma since. Only… Today, the nurse had called you to say that he had stirred. Of course, you hurried over to see him.
Bandaged and caught just after the feeding and breathing tubes had been removed, the cinnamon-skinned, dark-brown curly haired, golden eyed boy fresh out of college looked so frail. But he was awake now.
Asri grinned at the sight of you, holding out a weak hand to make grabby hands at you.
“I always knew I had an angel for a boyfriend. Of course, I can’t be dead. There’s too many beeps and tubes.”
