Bridges || m.c. [completed]

bridges || m.c.

Highest Ranking [#908 in fanfiction]

SOMETIMES, PEOPLE DECIDE THAT LIFE IS NO LONGER WORTH LIVING. That the voices in your head and the people who swarm you are too much to bare.

Not even the people you love, and the people that you idol can save you.

Not even Michael Clifford.

But that's just how it starts.

With Mikey.

Every bridge that I had ever walked over meant the same thing for me. Death.

I have always feared them.

I always fear leaning too far over the railing, getting frightened and then falling, or losing yourself to the point of jumping all by yourself.

I knew from a young age that bridges were nothing but the devils work.

My mother and father thought it was an irrational fear. But they would still try to avoid them when we went on road trips.

I never told them the reason why I feared the structure so much, but somewhere deep down, I think that they knew it was because of the sadness that occupied what once was light in my eyes.

Earbuds in my ears and sitting on the beach was a normal weekend for me in gloomy San Francisco. I loved to look at the Golden Gate Bridge and watch as fearless people drove their cars over it and as more fearless people and families would walk over it and take pictures, the young kids on their toes leaning over the edge, rocks below to catch their bodies if they slipped.

I don't know why I was sad, but it wasn't like one day I woke up and it consumed me. It was more like a change can.

Every day you would add more pennies and dimes to the can and eventually it would get heavier.

The pennies and dimes were the things that the world threw at me, and the can that they were thrown into was my lungs, weighing me down.

The weight that the world held in my lungs was starting to drown me. I would sink to the bottom before I would ever be able to swim to the top.

The only person capable of removing the weight from my lungs was the soft, raspy voice of Michael Clifford.

But that was never going to happen. I was blonde but not that dumb.

The only way I was able to see Michael was through my dreams.

When he would come, and hold my hand, and we would walk across the bridges.

No fear would constrict the flow of air in my lungs as we would laugh and lean over the railing as if we were gods.