Here you go:

He walked over to me and sat down with a smile, in his hand a fresh bouquet of flowers. Today was Friday, which meant no school for a few days, just us, in an open field having a picnic like two friends should. I leapt up, but before I could do anything a shot echoed in my ears. He screamed out in pain and I couldn’t move; my world as I knew it had just ended. We died together that day, he and I, only of different types of deaths. He died from a shot wound and I died from a broken heart. My friend as I knew him was gone.