Writing Prompt Wednesday #28

Staring at his reflection https://www.journalbuddies.com/writing-topics/daily-writing-prompts-adults/
NOTE: So I was listening to literally the most upbeat song ("So They Say" from "Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog" if any of you wanna listen to it) while writing this GRUESOME short story and I really embody the stereotype of author’s being heartless monsters who laugh at deaths and I just thought that was important for y'all to know. Enjoy!

TW: Death

Joseph stared at his reflection in the mirror, running a finger along the cheekbones that now protruded from his face. The last time he had been here was before it happened. He’d changed a lot since then, mostly for the worst. He had become skinny and pale and gaunt. His eyes were no longer bright blue, shining with hope. Instead, they were the dark, deep blue of sadness. The sea after a storm, where nothing of use is left.
    But more than that, he’d changed. Not just his face or his eyes, but his core. He wasn’t happy anymore. He was always breaking down or exploding at his friends or, worse of all, not doing anything. Just sitting on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked up a book or played a video game. Probably before he died.

    “I’m worried about him,” Joseph heard his mom saying the other day. “His grades are slipping and he’s just not himself. He hasn’t smiled for months.
    “That’s understandable,” his dad replied.
Joseph hated that. No more did his dad get into arguments or offer advice, it was always “That’s understandable” or “Give him time” or “He’ll come around.”
“Of course, of course,” Joseph’s mom said. “I’m just worried about him is all.”
“I know, honey,” his dad had said. “It’s okay. He’ll come around.”

Joseph had almost punched him. He wanted to kick something over now, just thinking about it. You didn’t just “come around” after something like this. They didn’t know what it was like to lose your best friend. Sure he’d been like family to them, but he was Joseph’s best friend! You couldn’t just get over that.
“Joseph, come on. It’s time for the funeral,” his mom called from the other room.
“Coming,” Joseph replied, fighting to keep his voice steady. He reached over and, from his nightstand, grabbed the thing that he had come here for. A thick leather band, with the letters J and K scratched into it. Joseph wore an identical band on his wrist. He was going to bury that band with him, and never take his own off. Then, at least some part of him could last past death.