13 reasons why: tyler at the pier

tyler

Glass half empty.

He pushed it aside. 1am. He dragged his body up to face the mirror; staring into a reflection he couldn't call his own, lost in the maze of his own mind, nowhere to hide, no shield, trying to outrun reality.

He walked out the door, and began running through the rain, with no ultimate destination. Droplets sliced through the air like blades slicing through skin until it hits the bone, puddles exploded into masses of tears as his feet plummeted into them, the icy air scratched against his skin, stripping him of warmth.

Eventually he stopped and looked around, his surroundings blended together into a glossy blur, he fell to his knees -letting this immense weight roll gently off his shoulders- burying his face into his hypothermic hands and drenching them with emotion. Hours strolled by as he lay there helplessly, hoping the ground would open up and pull him under, out of his everlasting misery. He drifted off, senseless.

When he  gained his conscience he was at the pier, blusterous wind gushed into his face thrusting his body, he shot back resisting it and heaved his arms toward the bar, seizing it firmly but somewhat reluctantly as the coldness of it sent millions of tiny shocks rippling throughout his veins.

This was it, his train had finally reached the last stop.

Waves lapped over each other as though they were dancing, the wind hummed peacefully in response. Silence. He closed his eyes, allowing his tears to flow gently down his tender skin. His entire life replayed before him, each tear bearing a memory down with it. He opened them, any remaining emotions wiped clean.

He lifted his leg and started to climb the bar, preparing for his departure. He gazed into the waters wondering what lay beneath...his thoughts, answered by a hand, a purple jacket, a leg, now 2 legs, a face, Bryces face.

Dead.

For a split second he saw himself lying benumbed in the water. That vision sent him backwards off the bar, sprawled across the stony ground panting, as though someone had reached far down his throat and grabbed onto his lungs.

He fumbled for his phone and anonymously dialed the police, his staggering breaths preventing him from forming words, "d- d- dead. A-at the..pier." he muttered, then hung up the phone.

He walked home, with this sudden vehement to live.

Bryce was dead, he was trying to change, to be better, to not be defined by past his mistakes, but now that's all he will ever be. He was robbed of his chance to be someone new.

When he got home he slumped onto his bed and shut his eyes reminiscing on how that could have been him. He was given a 2nd chance at life, an opportunity to start over. In the morning he went downstairs to have breakfast. Today was a change, tomorrow was progress and all the days after were a smile. He sat at the table with a grateful expression plastered across his face.

Glass half full.