I hate how people, when you tell them something that is commonly strange or unusual, automatically assume that you are crazy; insane. It is one of the many things that piss me off. I once told my late grandmother that I could see my grandfather, whom had been dead for three years already, and she had me sent to a mental hospital. That was the worst twelve months of my life. I met a girl there, Myla was her name, she claimed to have heard voices in her room every night when she'd wake up at two A.M. How do I remember that time? It's been seven years since I last saw her in person. Anyway, she would tell me what she heard, felt, hated, loved. We had became close, until one day, I went to knock on her door to her room. Knock Knock, no answer. Knock Knock "Myla?" I called, slowly turning the handle to her room. I wish I had taken longer, I wished that I just listened to the squeak of the door handle and then shrugged then left. I swung the door open and stared at the sight in front of me. Saliva foamed around her mouth, her eyes were wide open and looked clouded over. She was pale and obviously gone. I didn't even realize that I was screaming while I observed the scene.

She had overdosed that day, on purpose. Suicide, wouldn't that have been a decent enough explanation?

They held a funeral for her that day, which seemed shallow to me. Let her rest. None of those people even knew who she was. Neither did I... or her own parents, the ones who had sent her here because she was concerned about the voices in her room and appearently, she wasn't even crazy. Her family had found two men in her walk-in closet. No one, other than myself, knew they would assult her in her sleep. She had told me but she was scared that people would judge her if she told anyone else. She wasn't scared to tell me because...What would my oppinion do? I barely even spoke when she and I would meet, for I was too drugged up to even really process what she said. But now I understood. People are ignorant, idiotic, and petty. Even me.

Seventeen-Years-Old, three months, fifty-three days, five minutes, and fifty point nine minutes....That's how long she lived. More than half of that was in that hospital. It wasn't fair, she didn't deserve to die in such a grim and miserible building full of the insane and numb. She deserved a rainbow, an ice-cream, cake, an older age! God, why did you give up on us?! Don't throw away the innocent and protect to guilty!! Let us be happy!!

Why blame this on a god when there is also a devil beneath you? Why give up on a force that is probably fighting for you, but is maybe failing for the moment? Or...why blame your misfortion on something that may not even be there?

I was soon let out about a month later. By that point, I was ten-years-old. Still so young, yet still so broken. But again... That was seven years ago and now I'm seventeen. The same age she was when she died except I made it five more months than her... Why? I'm not any more special than her. In fact; I'm a thousand times less.

I'm seventeen years old and I go to Fleidd Central, a High School not too far from my rickedy old apartment that's paint peeled as if it was a rotten banana. I walked through those halls, looking for my new locker. I had switched schools again since I was expelled for reasons that'd I'd rather not explain nor really think about. The corridor I passed through had the scent of freshly dried paint, making it obvious of the recent renevations that had been done. I soon find my navy blue locker, the hall empty; indicating that I was already very late to my class. I look at my agenda and use my combonation "28...0...10..." I mutter under my breath as I turn the knob and hear the lock click as it popped open. I open my back-pack and slid my supplies and new books I had gotten ahead of time inside. I hear the bell ring. Well, I guess I was later than I originally thought. I go to glance up and almost immediately was shoved into the lockers beside me "Another faggot~! Fun!" A boy with nasty dish-water blonde hair sneered, I just looked him dead in eyes "are you done? I'd like to get to my next class" I spoke, annoyed. He looked slightly irritated, Making my straight face turn into a smug smirk but... That made his irritation turn to anger. The next thing I knew, a sharp pain sparked through my stomach as a fist plunged into it. I wanted to yell 'Fuck! OW!' but all that came out was a raspy "fuh...-!!" as I hunched down over the fist, falling to the floor as it was taken away and walked away along with the asshat that punched me. The pain in my gut soon turned into as if it was a large, fresh, bruise on each organ in that area. A bit dramatic, but I know what it felt like. I stood up, placing my hand over my aching abdomen "are you okay?" a male voice asked, I look up and almost fall back down. The boy that stood in front of me was about a foot taller than I... "Again, are you okay?" he repeated. I tensed up and nodded "I'm fine, don't worry about it" I replied hastily, standing straight and fully taking in his looks. He had chocolatey brown, half shaved hair...gray eyes that pierced straight through my body and long forgotten heart, tan skin that reminded me of carmel. I had to shake my head to avert my gaze and regain my concious thoughts. I quickly grabbed my books that I needed and shut my locker, racing to my second period.

What was that? Why did that happen? Why did he care? Who was he? Why did my heart skip...? So many questions that I had would remain unanswered until I began to actually associate with him and other people... I had been numb for so many years, only to feel again within this school year with the help of a boy that barely knew anything of who I am or what I've done... This is gonna be a very, VERY, long story...