He's going to kill himself on New Year's?

I ran to the clock hanging on the wall. 4:21 PM. I still have time.

Sprinting to the door, I could only put my palm on the knob before I froze.

Who did this even belong to?

6:00

I really don't know how to describe how it felt. Kind of like my heart stopped? But no, I didn't die, so my heart didn't stop. Like… someone just squeezed it? No, that's just plain creepy and weird! I'm no good at analogies. Leave that stuff to the kid who owns that journal.

And so I opened the red notebook back up, and started to jot down anything that might tell me who he was.

Gilbert's friend

Forgotten a lot

Has an art room

… And that's it. That's all I know about him.

Obviously, first I thought to call Gilbert and ask him who he pushed down the stairs, but he didn't pick up! Honestly, the nerve of that guy. I'm trying to be a hero here, the least you can do is be my sidekick!

Ugh, just forget Gilbert. Clue number two: he's forgotten a lot.

…Well how am I supposed to remember something I forget?! Clue number two proved pointless, too.

He has an art room, meaning he's artistic. And… Where exactly do I go with that? Being a hero is so hard!
So all of my clues are crap. And it's already seven!

7:00

So you know how Gilbert didn't pick up? Yeah, well I called Francis, who was drunk and already partying the "night" away.

"Heyyy, Alfredd~" he sang into the phone.

"Francis, I need to find Gilbert, or at least ask for some gossip. Have any ideas where he is?" I think I spoke kind of fast.

"Wooaahhh so many words~ You should be a.. a… te—*hiccup* —acher!"

"Francis," I said slowly with fake patience, "where is Gilbert?"

"Gilly? He's right here! He's with me!" he laughed drunkenly.

There were clattering noises on the other line and various voices were heard, chattering and others were even singing—I didn't even want to know what was going on at that party. Eventually, a new voice resounded through the receiver. It was Gilbert's.

"Al? Why aren't you at the party? Didn't get the invite? Well it's too late and I don't even want to try to get you in! It was hard enough to get—"

"Gilbert, shut up a sec. I need to know who you pushed down the stairs at school before the break."

It was quiet on the other line except for music booming and mindless small-talk and gossip in the background. Finally Gilbert answered.

"Okay, first, I didn't push Matt. I just… I don't know—I don't! It's just… One minute we were talking, I got kind of mad, and he just fell. I couldn't apologize before he ran away. I said some kind of mean stuff… But I figure we could just make up when I see him in Algebra when we get back to school."

Now, I don't know for sure since I can't see myself, but I'm pretty sure my face paled. Matt… as in Matthew? As in my brother Matthew?

"Yeah, well you're not going to get a chance to apologize because I found his girly diary and he said he's going to kill himself today! Or tomorrow! Or whenever the "first light" is! Whatever that means!" I started shouting and my words got jumbled together.

I didn't wait for him to respond before I hung up.

Okay, don't freak out. Don't freak out. There's tons of "Matt"s at our school… Who are friends with Gilbert… And… Oh screw it. I knew it was him, but I just didn't want to admit he was the one behind the journal. The one that wanted to kill himself.

The time moved on, despite my very logical attempts to hold the second hand in place.

8:00

I ran to the art room of our house—why didn't it click before?— and nearly threw the supplies on the floor.

Scissors

Scissors

Scissors

Scissors

Scissors

Where are the freaking scissors?!

No. You're still wrong. It isn't your brother. Mom just decided to take them to her office… for work or something like that…

With a frustrated grunt, I turned heel and ran up to Matthew's room. I felt slightly guilty it's probably my tenth time in the room for my entire life.

Banging on the door, I yelled, "Mattie, can I come in?"

I received no answer.

"Mattie?"

I took the key from above the doorframe and fumbled with the lock to open the door. The door opened pretty easily, but that didn't stop the cold air from hitting me. The window was left open and the room was probably ten degrees colder than the rest of the house. The chilly winter air slapped me in the face.

He wasn't there. He wasn't there. But you know what was? A red stain on the carpet.

9:00

This was getting ridiculous, and I swore the clock was laughing at me.

Honestly, where could he have gone? And by now, I had begrudgingly accepted it was Matthew that wrote the poetry and little diary entries. I had always fought for my side of the argument, without admitting defeat, but now, I'd never wished more someone could come up to me with a better side of the story to tell me I was wrong. I probably wouldn't fight them.

Now, as crazy as this is, (or not crazy if you agree with amazing minds like me) I actually jumped out of the two story window, and it hurt. A lot. Like I landed wrong or something because my leg hurt like crap. (Yup. Crap. That's my best analogy.) I managed to stand up again, and I was a man, I didn't cry.

… Well FINE I did for a couple minutes, but I pulled myself together alright?!
ANYWAYS

I had no idea where to go. (Remind me again why I didn't just use the front door? Oh yeah, because I have an amazing mind.)

Completely and utterly lost, I ended up wandering around for—where's a stupid clock?— before my phone started ringing. Why would Gil be calling me now?

The toll of the next hour had never been more anatagonizing.

10:00

"Get over here," Gilbert said before I even had time to say that stupid "Hello, this is Alfred speaking. May I get the name and business of the caller?" Or even a little "Yo 'sup?"

"What's going on?" I asked .

"Someone said they saw you here but "you" ran away looking like you were going to cry before they could talk to you. It's gotta be Birdie."

"Where's the party?" I asked in a speedy voice. I'm good at talking quick aren't I? Don't answer that. Pay attention to the story I'm telling you!

"It's at Francis's house."

An unspoken "'Kay bye" was sputtered and our phones clicked off in unison as I ran down the street in the direction of Francis's house.

Dang I wish I had a car…

11:00

When I say the party was packed, the party was packed. I could hardly move! Did the entire world come over or something?

I called Gilbert again.

"I'm here, now what?" I raised my voice to be heard over the boisterous music. (Yes, I can use big words too. Boisterous is a fish right?)

"Help me find Birdie!" he all but screamed.

"I know, I know!" I yelled over the noise and another unspoken goodbye was said and we both hung up yet again.

Pushing apart the sea of partying kids, I scanned eyes of millions (or more like hundreds… But millions sounds more dramatic right?) but missing out on a pair of matching mine but in violet instead of blue.

Eager to get out of the crowds, I ran upstairs, and there were still tons of people. How big was Francis's house? I know his parents are some French models or something, but his house is like a freaking mansion. I bet Roderich's in some closet trying to find the music room if he even came.

Running up the stairs, the scent of alcohol lessened by the slightest with each floor. By the time I was on the sixth floor, I found the door locked. I guessed it led to the roof.

Taking out my trusty cellphone, I pressed in Francis's number.

"Hey," he said into the phone, but the alcohol seemed to be wearing off slightly.

"Francis, where's the key to the roof? Can I unlock it? I hate all this noise and need a little air."

"I didn't lock my roof though," he said. "The key should be taped under the hand rail."

My stomach became a gymnast, doing all kinds of funny flips and twists. Gold medal goes to… Alfred's—yeah this analogy is getting weird, too… I GIVE UP ON THEM!
I banged my fist against the door just in case some couple making out up there would open the door looking embarrassed and leave to go home, but the door never opened. What kind of door is this? Wood? Yeah, heroes can kick doors in—

Dang that hurt!

Oh right… Key under the hand rail…

My hand dragged under the wooden rail and stopped when it hit something that wasn't the smooth cylinder.

Ripping off the key, I jammed it into the door's lock and jiggled it open.

And it was colder up on the roof, but the sky was definitely a sight worth seeing. Gazing up at the glistening stars, I could have died right there.

…Wrong choice of words.

"Hey, Al," came a gentle voice. "The stars are really pretty tonight aren't they?"

He seemed so…different. He didn't seem timid tonight. He didn't shy away from conversations or stutter when he spoke. He didn't try to shrink into the corner when others came near him. No, he seemed at peace with himself. Almost confident. He sat on the edge of the roof, facing me with his back to the city in the distance.

"Yeah," I replied almost warily.

I'd never seen such a smile.

"Why don't you come with me?" I asked eyeing his feet kicking slowly and his hands that seemed to have too loose of a hold on the edge. "Let's get some hotdogs to kick off the New Year!"

His soft blonde curls dangled as he shook his head slowly. "I just want to be here tonight."

I gave a nervous laugh. "But aren't you hungry? If you don't want hotdogs, there are hamburgers, too."

"I think I know," he ignored my offer. "I think I know why Gilbert always called me Birdie."

His face dropped from the moon and he looked into my eyes. When I say he looked different, I don't mean that lightly. I hardly recognized him. Why did he look so happy? Why did he look so calm? Wasn't he going to kill himself? Did I get this wrong?

"Maybe he wanted me to fly," he looked back to the north star.

And there were so many things wrong with his statement.

The shouts were even reaching the rooftop now.

Five! They yelled cheerfully.

Four! They screamed in delight.

Three! They shouted in excitement.

Two! Matthew mouthed along.

One! His grip loosened and he lifted his foot a little too high.

Midnight

Happy New Year!

And just like that, he was gone.

I ran forward and reached blindly over the side of the building, but this was no drama. Of course I couldn't grab his arm while he begged me to let him go. Of course I couldn't pull him from his fingertips to his wrist to his elbow until he was safe again.

Of course… I had to watch until his figure shank to nothing.

Of course I heard a sickening splat sound, though that was probably in my head.

And of course there were screams and sirens.

Of course I couldn't save him.

Of course, I tried, of course I wanted to, of course I did.

So do you blame me for hanging half way off the edge with tears pouring from my eyes? I almost wanted to jump after him, but what would that accomplish?

And even when Francis came to the roof, shaking my shoulder, yelling my name, I didn't respond. He pulled my shoulder back and I fell on my butt, hardly responding at all. My body shook uncontrollably from sobs. It's bad enough my twin brother just committed suicide, but to make me watch him? To make it so easy to just grab him and yet I couldn't? Why didn't I just steal his wrist when I first saw him? Why was I such an idiot?

But that's who I am. I'm no hero, no matter how much I wanted to be. I'm just a useless idiot, crying into my arms so much I could have been swimming in the Atlantic Ocean.

Yeah sure, now I can make analogies.

They tried to ask me questions, they tried to get me to respond at all, but how can they understand? Don't they know more than one soul dies with suicide?

I didn't until just then.

End

DON'TKILLMEDON'TKILLMEDON'TKILLMEDON'TKILLMEDON'TK ILLMEDON'TKILLMEDON'TKILLMEDON'TKILLME I'm sorry for killing Mattie but I had toooooooo But did you still kind of like it? Maybe? If you've read any of my other stories, do you like this style of writing or my usual better? I tried something new for this fanfiction sooooo I'm not sure if new is good XD Reviews?