ten reasons why // daniel sharman

prologue

his head low, his hair whipping in the salty air, the music blasting through his earphones, he sat. his legs dangled off the surface of the ledge, bringing him closer to the one leap that could destroy him.

but he wouldn't slip.

he wouldn't give up. he wouldn't give in. he'd just tread, like a thief on a silent night may, through the thin strands of life.

and he wouldn't care. not for his father, nor for his mother. he wouldn't think of what they thought, like the thief that he thought himself to be.

he would survive, but not live.

and she would notice. everyday, sitting on the ledge that took her one step closer to freedom, she'd watch him. her head held high, her legs crossed and her earphones plugged in, she'd observe. no music flew through her ears, and so she heard every sob. every tear, every piece of a broken heart.

but she wouldn't say anything. she, just like the thief might, would stay in the shadows and observe. and when the right time came, she'd use it.

and when was the right time? when the victims were asleep, armless and vulnerable. that's when the theft took place.

he was armless and vulnerable.

and the theft was what she was planning.

tw// mentions of suicide