Disclaimer: Neither to the book, or movie, Bridge to Terabithia belong to me, nor do I wish to gain any compensation from this fanfiction. Thats all it is, a fan's deviation.
Thanks, a lot.
Blood was pounding in his ears, he could almost hear the thoughts swirling around in his head at an alarming pace, his breathing was heavy as his feet collided heavily with the steps of his house.
He vaguely thought of how much hindrance a door was and how much effort it took to open and close one, why couldn't it be more like Terabithia, you didn't need doors to keep things out of you're mind.
But this wasn't Terabithia, this was home, a place he had almost verified as hell until she has arrived and brought him that much closer to heaven.
The door gave a loud bang and for once he didn't care, he didn't think about anything as he barricaded the door with his youngest sister's dresser. He could only think about his friend, whom he would no doubt be seeing tomorrow.
Even though the more he thought about, the more he wished that the word 'dead' didn't exist in anyone's vocabulary. Ignoring the scattered things about the room, and the stuff that dropped onto the floor from the dresser he marched himself to his bed almost franticly, he flipped open his precious box and pulled out his book.
His heaven.
Or at least it had been, until he had met her.
He stopped at the crudely drawn picture wishing he could place a better image of his best friend in his eyes, but that was all he had left of her. His palm and fingers brushed the empty part of the page almost frightened of maybe destroying any semblance he had left of her.
He didn't know how long he had stared at the picture, or how long he had deluded himself into thinking that his hell had played nothing but the vilest of tricks. Leslie was the type of person that, in his head, deserved immortality, she was his best friend, his heaven, his light from everything that had ever told him that this place, this existence would be all that he would ever have.
He didn't remember falling asleep clutching the book, he also didn't remembering the few tears that had left his cheeks stained, all that he remembered was the little amount of time he had spent with her.
And that their friendship had barely even started but had meant so much more to him than the most expensive present he had ever been given. He should have thanked her, not only for the present, but just for living.