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The sound of closed-door came from the tape.
Somehow, I walked up, recollecting that day when Hannah Baker left counselor behind out the doorway, then turned to mine soon after without much shilly-shally.
She had actually lingered at door unknowingly days ago, so that day didn't take much time instead.
I have traveled along the route she connected nine times with the listed people. Admittedly, everyone named was doomed to take a piece of her life more or less.
People ignore the possibilities of slipping down a chain reaction more often than not till the time results come.
Apart from her, the eleventh was the only spot I had done my job that she and Jenny Kurtz crashed a traffic sign on their backhaul from the final party of her life. Sure, the consequence of murdering an innocent senior accidentally would have left a bad taste on both of their records; she went away with repentance, kinda of mediocre; as for Jenny Kurtz, I'm not sure, she has to be tested in her long future, that's many opportunities to incurred a way to hell for herself. While Hannah Baker stepped ahead with her record quite clean arguably.
Fortunate? Unfair? Many people on the list resent the accusation of the reason that brought about her suicide; they complained of as pretexts for her unfounded allegations. Those unrepentant, self-central bullies would live longer whereas I led Hannah Baker through the gate. Perhaps they're right, she overstated, twisting, vilifying the incidents; she may be the very problems too fussed; things were not so grave as she thought, right? She should have thought twice someone who concerned her rather than putting into it, which also unfair, now that nobody knew what she's going through, finding out what's enough for her; while that wasn't my thing anyway, I'm just doing what we're told in which there's no any fair.
"I'm sorry." was the last voice of this tour of her deathbed.
When the recorder clicked off, Clay Jensen bursted into tears with his face adhered on the bars at the still of night, drowning out the howl of Keres.
I watched him break down like that for a quarter or so, grieving and repenting for the missed opportunity to prevent a misery.
Cupid levitated meters away, gazing curiously and pityingly him. He didn't show up until now. I had no way of knowing has he meddled this before or consealing as covertly as Clay's feeling, revealing itself to now, I don't care.
Clay Jensen soon seemed to let go miraculously as for a emotional teens. he stopped crying, opening eyes to the bright moonlight. Greeks see death as a commonplace, their heroes were frequently ended in tragedy, the earlier learning to accept, the better.
I vacantly stared at Cupid who just shrugged in response. he did that? as far as I know of his character, I have little reason to believe.
I looked the boy snap out, going away wistfully in silence. he couldn't still go through fully at once, while the death of Hannah Baker had scarce impact on increasing my workload, even extended, or lit up more specifically, another life.
Born in Death, one out, the other also down, neither of them could exist independently, which was difficult to understand or hard to tell unless encountered personally.
the following day
I wavered outside the door of Mr. Porter's class.
Clay Jensen scampered out the room. he held the acknowledged, refurbished mood as well as the tapes throughout the morning, continuing to deliver the story of her life, retelling how Hannah Baker shutted up all the doors except one along the way.
"I'm sorry," the same tone and movement walked over on the same course in similar scenario, I have seen more hopelessly two weeks ago.
"Skye." Clay Jensen yelled before me.
the girl paused, thinking awhile, hesitating to break the unaware eye contact.
other doors, including those of others, or mine.
We turned away from each other simultaneously with the gate in our midst closed behind, leave Cupid passing by in the opposite direction take over.