I took a deep breath in, and out. If I was going to do this, it was now or never. I looked over at her, and she smiled, sparking a light of determination in me.

I could do this.

So I put my pen on the blank piece of binder paper and started to write.

–––––

I was running faster than I ever had before, my muscles burning. My feet were bare, the ground beneath me was littered with old, brittle leaves. Twigs and branches snapped against my legs, piercing my skin and drawing a hot trickle of blood. I ignored the pain, and kept running, trying so desperately to get away because something was after me. I was sure that whatever was chasing me was would catch up to me, and fast.

I could no longer feel the burn of exhaustion in my muscles, and I knew that I was barely moving. Faster, I begged. Please! But to no avail, I was gaining only inches, pushing against an invisible force determined to hold me back.

Then I froze, not daring to turn around.

Because what I heard only barely inches behind me was enough to make me want to puke.

A low, guttural growl pierced the silence of the dark forest. Heavy footfalls accompanied it. I could hear its breath, could feel it, hot and rancid down my neck.

I held my breath, for fear that the creature would take it away.

No sooner than I had decided this, I heard the thing move. And no sooner than I had heard that, I felt it.

It wrapped it's clammy, scaly hand around my throat, literally taking my breath away.

I choked, and tried to inhale, but I couldn't. The thing took it before it could get to my lungs. I tried to pry the thing's hands off my neck, but to no avail. I was going to die like this, breathless, helpless. I felt the warm light in my chest start to flicker.

I really was dying.

The forest got darker, I couldn't see my hands in front of me. I couldn't hear anything.

I just felt. Felt the thing's hands, felt breath pass through my skin as if it was nothing.

And then I didn't even have that. It was just the dark. I was dead.

I shot up in bed, the thin sheets flying off me. I was dripping in a cold sweat, gasping for air.

It was a reoccurring dream, a nightmare that had haunted me since he left.

I was so relieved that he had left.

\–––––\ 

I was born on December 21, 2000, into, you could say, a broken family. My mother was young and my father had left long before my first day of school. I had no brothers or sisters, and the kids at school thought I was a creep.

I was tormented a lot as a child by nightmares and by reality. It seemed as something was running at me from every corner wherever I went. I was scared of monsters under my bed that never left. And the other kids at school made fun of me because of it.

I shared a love/hate relationship with school. I loved school. I hated the people. Which was different than most kids my age. They hated school, and loved the people. I guess that's what set me apart most. What kid likes a guy who prefers writing essays over friends? Nobody.

George Jacobs was kind enough to point that out for me one day in third grade as I came to school. He was the most popular kid. The teacher loved him. The P.E. coach loved him. Every single kid in the school (except myself) loved him. Even the principal thought he was a little angel. So, naturally, what he said was law, and he said that I was a little good-for-nothing nobody kid who's mom was too poor to get me glasses.

He was right though. My mother didn't have a lot of money. She got nothing from my father, of course, and she couldn't get a good job. It wasn't that she didn't know anything, she was decently smart. But businesses always found someone better suited for the job. Of course. So, we struggled. But it was okay because we always managed to come through. Together.

|–––––|

"You're a good-for-nothing nobody kid who's mom is too poor to get you glasses." Said George Jacobs, sneering.

I felt tears well up in my eyes. The eyes that were too weak to see the whiteboard. The eyes that would cost my mother so much. Please don't cry, please don't cry! I thought. They can't see me cry! Too late. A tear worked it's way down my cheek, cutting a crystal path down my cheek. This was almost worse than seeing the horrors of my nightmares come to life.

Almost.

George Jacobs sneered, and strutted away, yelling, "Cry Baby!" over and over, doing nothing to help wipe away my miserable tears. I slumped down onto the nearest bench and wrapped my head in my arms, desperate to hide my face.

He's right you know. Whispered a little voice in my head. Momma is poor. You never get new things. You've never been to a restaurant or the movies. What good are you, compared to them?

I cried until lunch ended, haunted by my terrible thoughts. When the bell rang, I stood from my bench, my head hung low, and at a snail's pace, made my way back to my third grade class. Was this ever going to end? I thought, Will anyone ever just give me a smile?

I realized later that the answer was no. Nobody in this vicious world will ever care enough to give me some light. So, I'll just waste away in darkness and fear, untouched by that invisible kindness.

\–––––\

The world was dark with the falling of the night. The sun had set, leaving a trail of black in its wake. I stood in the deep, black shadows of an alleyway, the tall buildings blocking my view of the moon. I could hear the distant sounds of city life. Car horns, shouts, all white noise. But I was alone in my alleyway. Utterly alone. There weren't even any cats.

Perfect.

No one had to see. I would vanish, my name forever wiped from the records of the world. Finally free. Finally safe. I took a deep breath. In, out. And I left the alleyway down a dark, abandoned road. I was in the city slums. It was dangerous to be out at this time, but I knew that even if somebody found me...

We're all going to the same place, right? I just wanted - needed, even - to get there sooner, rather than later.

I continued on in a determined stupor. All I felt was numb. No pain, no heat, no cool. Just, numb.

All I could see was what was directly ahead of me. My peripheral vision was destroyed. I was seeing through a tunnel. But there was no light at the end. Only the cold, numb, dark. I could see nothing through the blackness of my mind.

There were no stars out that fateful night, as there were none tonight. But I fear there will never be again, and not just for me. No one will ever see a star again.

Finally I can see where I am going. The numb goes away, and fear walks in through the open door. I try to back out, but my determination locks the door closed, shutting out my dread and sealing my fate.

Here, on this bridge, the sky is open. The moon shines full in it's horrible glory, igniting the city behind me in an endless fire. A fire that someone put out of me, not too long ago. The fire that burns with survival.

I no longer have the desire to survive. Or live. The moon mocks my presence. It laughs that I am not bright like it is. It hates that I can't reflect the sun like it can. I have no hope, and the moon doesn't like that.

I can't live in a world where Day laughs at my dark figure and Night hates that I don't continue to shine. How could anybody?

If I can't live, what is the point in survival? What do I have in my life that is worth living for when the only person I can die for is myself? My mind has lost its grip on this world and it is falling, down the deep, dark pit of no return.

And so will I. I walk out to the middle of the bridge, my back to the moon. Right now is all I have left, I'd rather not face the face that torments me so much.

I grab onto the edge of the railing and hoist myself up. I look down, and see my death. I see what I have come for.

I take another deep, drawn out breath. My mind and body prepares to jump away from this brutal existence. Until the moon decides to give one last hurrah.

"Wait." 

~

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