“If I were to jump off this roof would it kill me?”

“Is that what I want?”

“Is that what everyone wants?”

“Maybe the world would be better off if I wasn’t in it”

These were the words running through Harry’s head as he stood atop the roof of his local primary school.

It had started out a day like any other, which meant, it had started with sawdust raining upon his face.

Usually he tried to turn his head as much as possible, but he had been particularly comfortable that night and it is very hard to make good decisions when you are not even fully awake yet.

So Harry woke up to his cousin Dudley shoving him into the wall, his aunt yelling at him not to burn the bacon, and not even a grunt from his uncle.

Which, really, wasn’t that bad of a start all things considered.

He only had two pairs of school clothes, and he had decided to wear is less pants with his nicer shirt, to balance the day out. He only had one pair of regular clothes so he enjoyed having this little choice.

He had them grabbed his poorly mended glasses and had prepared to continue his unbeaten breakfast making streak.

And he had done a good job. Or, at least, he had thought so. But apparently he hadn’t been fast enough. Uncle Vernon had just been in a bad mood he guessed. Or maybe not. Because he really didn’t need to be in any special mood to be nasty to Harry. It was just how it was. And so Uncle Vernon had grabbed his right hand and slammed it onto the skillet.

And that was how he had landed on the roof.

Well. Kind of.

You see, when Uncle Vernon decides that he is going to hurt Harry in a place that is difficult to hide, like his dominant hand, Harry has to spend his day both at home and at school looking over his shoulder.

When this happens, he can either decide to be brazen about his injury, which he sometimes was, or evasive beyond his years, which he was more often.

Or he can just be honest. Kind of.

It was this third option that he tried on this day when his teacher, who at best seemed indifferent towards him most of the time, had been cornered by another kinder teacher who had unfortunately asked THAT question.

And, after his explanation that he had “just decided” to make breakfast that morning and had “just happened” to forget the skillet was on, his asshole of a teacher had started laughing.

He had said that on one hand, it was hard for him to believe that lazy and stupid Harry would ever even bother to turn the stove on, nevertheless make an actual meal, but on the other hand, he supposed that Harry was stupid enough that if he did, he would fall into the stove. And, as a last jab, he said he was happy that he had two hands so he could judge just how much of an idiot Harry was, impartially and Harry, and if it was up to him Harry’s burnt hand would never heal, because itt wasn’t like it was worth much anyways.

It wasn’t like Harry was worth much.

And Harry knew this. Sometimes he forgot for a moment when the sun shined down on his face or when Carly Martin smiled at him, but most of the time he knew this.

It still had sucked a big one to hear another adult, who he hadn’t known had felt strongly towards him in either direction, remind him.

Even when the other teacher had turned red in the face at her collegues weird little speech to some random kid she didn’t know, Harry didn’t stick around to see what happened next.

All that he knew was that one second he was running, running, running, and the next second he was on the roof.

And it seemed like he had the answer to all of his problems.

And with one step, and then two, and then that last step, with a face so blank as to break a persons heart, Harry fell.