Lumos, knox

bridge

I'm standing here on the top of a bridge. Strangers are passing by. Like they don't know what I'm about to do. But they all do. And you might be asking yourselves, how do I know?
Well, of all those passing strangers, none of them have looked at me. Not a single soul has looked me in the eye and told me that it will all be okay. My 2 hours are almost over. Just 7 minutes and 33 seconds to go. And then the world doesnt have to deal with me anymore. I, Phil Lester, will be gone.
The world will be a better place.
2 minutes and 6 seconds to go.
In the last 2 hours the skies have lost their colours. They had been bright pink and yellow and orange. Now they were just dark and threatening. I used to love the night. It was the only excuse to do nothing. To think of everything. To let the day sip through your brain as fast and often as you want it.
1 minute and 43 seconds.
It's funny how such a short amount of time can feel so long. Like it has been days since I sat down on this exact place. And although my butt started to lose its sense it's only been 2 hours. Almost.
45 seconds.
I wonder what these people are thinking, do they really not see me at all? Or am I right and are they just ignoring me? Because they don't want to deal with other people's problems. I wouldn't blame them. I don't want to deal with me either.
3
Almost
2
Over
1
I let myself fall backwards.
I didn't quite fall as far as I hoped. In fact, I didn't fall at all. Had gravity just ruined my dream? But then I noticed the hand and the heavy breathing.
Someone grabbed my foot and tried to pull me up. But why? Can't they just let me go?

Dans pov
Dear notebook,
I really need to stop starting like that. Anyway today something bad happened.
When I walk home from uni I have to cross a bridge. It has a nickname, it's called: 'The bridge of the flying dead'. Why? Because so many people jump of of it.
Today after school I saw a boy maybe a little older as me. He let himself fall. I grabbed him just in time. I held him by his ankle and he didn't even struggle. He didn't even try to save himself, he just hung there. A little moment later people started to help me pull him up... he almost died but he really didn't care for the fact that we saved him. He didn't say thank you. He just walked away. I'm scared for tomorrow, for when I read the paper I will find a little article about a black haired boy, who killed himself. And that I then realize that even though I saved him for now, I didn't save his life at all. I just stretched it for a few hours, maybe days. But except for that nothing has canged for him. His problems aren't over yet and he's still suicidal.

Phils pov
I came home. My dad was still with his friends at the bar and my brother was with his girlfriend. Home alone. I went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. I watched myself undress in the mirror. Bad choice. Now I had to look at me. I'm disgusting. Thin. Pale. Covered in bruises. My eyes are staring back at me judging me for everything I've done. Ever. I looked away and stepped under the hot shower. Also bad choice, because the warmth stung like hell on my cold skin. I let it sting. Because I deserved it. I deserve every little bit of pain. Because I'm a failure. I'm utterly disgusting.
I turned the shower of and picked up a towel and dried myself of. I put on pyjamas and fell of to a deep dreamles sleep. I'll try again tomorow.

Dans pov
I got out of bed and opened my closet and picked up an oversized grey jumper and black skinny jeans. I filled up my backpack with heavy books so my teachers could aknowledge my attempts on studying. And then I put on my black converse. I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed. Next I went downstairs and ate some off brand cereal. I did all of this with a black haired boy on my mind. I wonder if he's still alive. I'd love to meet him. To talk to him. Suicidals always have the most artistic and descriptive words. They have thaught themselves to speak like that so that writing a suicide note would be easier. I wonder if the boy left a note yesterday. His eyes were so... sad. They were like ice. But they were the kind of ice that would melt at the sight of spring. Something warm. Kindness. I wonder if his family ever showed him that. Kindness. I finished my cereal and took the bus because i couldn't be bothered to walk today. It was a long long day at uni.
And just like any other day I had spent way to long at the library so i had to walk home again. I didn't mind though. Tiny ice crystals came falling down from the sky. I breathed in the cold air and smoked my way home. And here was the bridge again. I was a little bit earlier as yesterday. About 10 minutes. And there he was again. In a tshirt for gods sake.
I decided to talk to him. Hey, I said. For a moment there were a lot of emotions dancing in his icelike eyes. Then he recognised me.
Hey, he answered. Aren't you cold? I asked him my voice full of concern. Yeah, he answered. But it doesn't really matter now does it? I won't live long enough to get a cold. Yes you will, I said. Come with me? I asked with pleading eyes. You could be a murderer he said. You're suicidal I answered. True. You could not be a murderer. He sighed realizing how stupid that sounded. And got off the side of the bridge. I got him. Hi I'm Dan, I said. Phil, he replied, still not sure how much information he wanted to let slip through his blue lips.