Dear Diary: Such A Silly Way To Die

He didn’t deserve to die. His eyes should have not been given the chance to stop gleaming with hope, thus his hair should have been able to keep flowing in careless ways in the wind. But it didn’t. Ashton Ankou, the boy who calmed every little disturbed thought that managed to break through all of the layers of insulation that surrounded my consciousness. His eyes once as bright as the sun, now rest dimmed and still somewhere under the Earth. The boy who once seemed so lively, so oddly comforting, hid physically in some place I shall not even name, matter of fact I didn’t even know of such a place. 

A careless city transport driver, five passengers one of which was a brown haired boy, and a bridge was a horrible combination once put together. A combination that caused devastation to the whole city, on the other hand if you think about it, maybe it wasn’t deviation, maybe it was pity. Nobody except themselves knew exactly what they felt about this incident. However I claim that I do feel a particular emotion, though unlikely to be correctly described by only using words. All I can say is that it wasn't pity, not at all. 

Dear readers, I am well aware that you are wondering why this particular genre of writing has been written, a genre about the past which also has depicted the future. My future. Ankou and I have become one ever since ninth grade, we planned on staying together, we promised with all of our will. However Ankou is dead. 

Oddly though not surprisingly I have been having a quite particular dream about him that I believe would be best to share with you dear readers. As expected, I go to sleep every night. I lay in my bed staring into the ceiling until my body can’t physically handle staying in full control, resulting in my eyes closing and my breathing slowing. I dream of laying under a bridge, tips of long, untrimmed grass surrounding my restful body which occasionally blocked my view of the underside of the overpass. I often felt the vibrations of passing automobiles along with hardly audible vocals of the nearby city. A clear night sky, the stars seemed to be showing off their greatest beauty. Some say that stars shine brightest right before they die, but that was not the case, or maybe it was, I was too clueless to know. 

A loud racket was caused on the bridge, which I later found out was a collision that involved my best friend. The air became warmer, the sky above me seemed a slightly more illuminated, yet I remained untouched, unharmed. It started to rain not long after the impact, though the rain seemed vaguely different. The water filled droplets tasted slightly different, a type of taste that even little children would avoid sticking out their tongues to greet it. Metallic like, with an awfully odd color lightly hit the sensitive skin on my face. Most would panic and run to hide if such situation would occur, though I have learned that if you close your eyes and choose to breathe through your nose, everything would seem okay.

In the ordinary.

Every night I was forced to lay under that bridge, every night since the “accident” happened. Note that the driver of the large city bus was intoxicated, or so we were told and forced to believe. The occurrence was plastered all over the headlines of newsprint along with crowding all of the information in online articles. 

“Terrible Incident of the New Origin Bridge” they titled, “Fatal accident killing five passengers and one driver” they quoted. The news spread like wildfire, there was nobody in the town who didn’t know about it. 

I, on the other hand, swear that I am most informed about it. Ever since the incident, I would lay on my bed at night scrolling through news articles regarding past events. Desperately and pleadingly, I would try to discover some little detail that others have missed, though I never successfully found it. 

Being the first to find out the news, was setting me up to be the first to break down. I cried and beat myself up everyday thinking I could have changed the outcome. For all I know I could have cried a river in which could rush under the bridge, saving many hopeless and lost teenagers who may have had a bad night that day. I never knew because I never tried to create a river, I could have but I didn’t, that’s the problem. So many opportunities wasted despite how impossible they seemed. Future outcomes that could have been changed only if I took a chance.

At a very young age, my parents and some of my teachers taught me that some things will always remain slightly out of reach no matter what you seem to do. No matter how many times I was lectured about it, talked to about it, taught about it, I never let it get to my head. I blamed myself for accidents that happened across the city to people I have never even really heard of. I blamed myself about Ankou too.

Dear Mom, Dad, Richie, Grandma, Soulie, the police officers and the news reporters along with the publishers and whoever else came across a reason to read this note that I believe I left on the kitchen table, now you know my reasoning. The reason in which I disappeared that night forever. I shall apologize though I reassure you that I am not regretful in any way that I chose this path. I wanted to meet Ankou once more, ironic due to the fact that he has only been gone for about a week. Possessive, am I right? For the past eight days I have begged and longed for him to reappear in class, or meet me in the hallway during math. Yet he never did, I guess he really was gone this time.

Anyway, by the time you are reading this, I will be standing on top of the New Origin Bridge, similarly to how my friend did, or maybe by now I have taken it a step further. I guess you will find out soon. 

Thanks for everything guys, I am just really tired of this.