I stood alone as the glittering of snow fell, blanketing the ground in white. The wind hollered as it blew past my face, blowing the loose strands of my hair in the air, and letting them dance in the pitiless, ruthless, cold. It stopped for no one, it stood alone. Piece by piece it plummeted downwards. Gales of piercing, penetrating breeze roared unflagging. It was a cold December evening, in the midst of winter.

Each piece that fell had its own unique, distinctive design. Each one was a cryptic, enigmatic, mystifying flake that held so much beauty. The snowflakes infiltrated the ground, moistening the frozen underneath. I couldn't take my eyes off them.

I stood rigid in the cold. As my eyes moved steadily, I found myself staring at my hands.

Did I do this?

I gazed solely at my hands which revealed a bright red stain. Various thoughts filled my mind until the dark red dripped. It fell so slowly, I felt trapped in time; that is until the red hit the ground. The ruby stained sphere shattered. It dyed the snow surrounding the once white spot in blood.

In blood.

The expression on my face was beyond what you could describe as horror. Petrified would not be sufficient either. It was so much, what I felt, almost too much. My breathing had become uneven, I inhaled, but couldn't exhale. I could not breathe. My lungs, nor mouth would not obey my mind.

I felt dizzy. My head felt heavy.
My eyelids were weighed down, my mind had shut down. My body froze, my senses faded, my conscience drifted, and fear struck my soul.

My thick attire could not protect me from the gusts of wind overcoming my body, I struggled but it was to no avail. I felt the trauma begin to overcome me. I grasped my head, shaking wildly.

No. No. No.
It can't be me. It's simply a dream.

I want to look up, forget about this, but my muscles would not allow it. I couldn't exhale. I felt a beady, warm, liquid stroll down my face, originating from my eyes. Is it blood? No, I was wrong. I don't know why I'm remembering this. My life just played before me like a slideshow, a movie, a film, a video with no pause button.

"Nothing but an enmity, you're a curse to our society!"
"You heartless being, you don't belong here!"
"You nullify our worth, just get the heck out!"
"Nobody wants you, sucker!"

I was never the emotional, fervent type. I was a loner, the quiet, stoical kid in the corner. I never had a friend to call crony once. But I never cried. I never did. No matter what. Even when they beat me, I didn't cry. I never shed a tear in my life. I never let what they said get to my head. Their insults never mattered.

So what am I crying for now?

They really were tears. It strolled down one after the other, seeming to have no end. The tears streamed down my rosy cheeks; my eyes still fixed at the blood in my hand. What is this feeling? It is not guilt alone, nor is it simply fear; is it anger? No, it was not any of those.

"You freak!"
"Why won't you just get lost!"

Ah, that was it. It was trauma. It was confusion. It was fear. It was anger. It was guilt. It was all these feelings put together.

"You crazy idiot, get out of my life!"
"You are such a freak!"

The dead bodies, the knife dropped on the ground, the eerie silence, the violent breeze; and my guilty body standing right in the middle of it all. Why.. I don't deserve this. I'm only a child. Why, why..? Why though..? How come I'm the only one that has to go through hell from start to finish!

They failed to rankle me. I felt like a doll. I was misplaced perhaps. I felt put in a world I did not belong in. Maybe it was simply all a dream. Was it a mistake? Yes, simply. It was a miscalculation, a fault, a blunder, it was merely all a mistake. It had to be.

"You lost your mind, you ain't no one to us or to anyone!"
"Sure you aren't mental or anything?"

Ah, that's it. Each word held a value, but very little meaning at the time; but when small pieces come together, they form a bigger image. Those words didn't hurt, but they cut a small wound deep inside. I never noticed the wounds until there were too many of those inside. I couldn't resist all that pain. Sure, a scar or two is no problem, but when you are hit over and over in the same area, which was my heart at the time, it inflicts a more significant wound. A wound that's hard to heal. A would that almost never heals. That would is called hatred. It's called pain. It's the bitter feeling of loneliness, of anxiety, it's when you reach your limit where you can't hold it in anymore. I felt like that at the moment.

She didn't kill them. They didn't kill them. He didn't kill them. I killed them.

Does that make me a murderer..?

The stress built up. I lost my mind, I lost my cool, my mind went blank; when I woke up again, I only saw motionless bodies before me. And immediately, I knew I had killed them.

"Creep!"
"Loser!"

It happened all so fast. Where did I get the blade from even? How did I manage to attack and kill them all so easily? Why didn't someone stop all this? Why didn't someone just yell 'quit it!'?!

They were all family. I saw them everyday of my life. I grew up with them..

"Your presence makes me want to kill myself"
"Your a freakin', unwanted fool!"

I felt tears forming on my cheeks, I felt my cheeks drowned in tears. Why did I do this? Was it for something so unreasonable such as because they didn't accept me as one of them? Why didn't I just keep ignoring them as I always had? Why did I let there efforts through? Why did I let the hole they punched in me show?

I wanted to scream on the top of my lungs. I was going to go insane.

They're all dead now. You're a blood-thirsty monster.

But then the heat resided all of a sudden. My brain slowed down enough for me to think properly once more. I exhaled.

"Moron!"
"You half-minded dunce!'

The cold wind hollered past me, creating nothing but a long, deep silence. And I long to press the button in life entitled 'restart'. Possibly then I wouldn't hear the nasty insults ring in my head everywhere I go. Maybe then I would have chose to make smarter choices. Maybe then I wouldn't be so miserable or live in such stint and hatred. Maybe then I might actually be like anyone else.

...

Maybe then I wouldn't be such an unwanted outcast.

If only I could press Restart.

__________

I guess that's what everyone wants: To have a second chance. But we only have one, and the goal is to make it without messing up. Once you trip, you can get back up. But once you are stabbed, you can not. That's when every soul wishes for the restart button in life.

This is when I wish for the restart button. But when we start searching, it swat too late. Why?
Because it's already ended.