i think im going to write a book....

"Chapter 1-

          I awoke in the burning embers and smoking ash of a fire once at full rage. Complacent and tranquil, I lay in the grass as if these occurencences were unbeknownst to me. At a time like this, most people would be contemplating whether they were burning in spite of God's angst or if an acid trip is plaguing and eating away at your brain and reality given to you by such a higher being. On the contrary,  my mind was completely blank, left alone to the auditory raping of a monotinous droning noise pounding away at the inside of my ear. The desecrating noise began to slowly fade and the depressing sound of screaming and crying from numerous women and children began to bleed into my veins; poisoning my heart as if it was a vile serum dripping from the devil's brow and being injected into my bloodstream. I still lie in the grass, trying not to be seen, just in case someone was looking. I always hated being looked at. It's my defense mechanism, walking slowly against the walls, never making eye contact. I hate the burn of peoples' eyes on me.

          I gathered enough strength to move my fixed stare from the leaden smoke filled sky to the burning flesh and turmoil that lay beside me. Images began to rush through my head:

 A plane. Just falling. An engine Failure. I try not to panic. I stare intently at the tear in the fabric of the seat in front of me. One woman, i can recall the slight graying of her hairline and a face worn from lack of sleep, eyes tearing away at my empty stomach as her fear eminated from them into mine, hysterically asked me the time. One million different replies flooded my mind as she asked, none of which relevant, none of which comforting. I figured the last thing I should do while im plunging into my grave is piss off God, if their even is a God, it doesn't really matter to me. Just to be safe, I won't tear the poor woman apart like I do to everyone else that's ever turned to me for a goddamn answer. She's got enough goddamn worries on her goddamn mind. I on the other hand at that moment came to the conclusion that I could care less if I died or not. I've prayed for an apocolypse before, it's not like I actually would miss anything, except her. But me, I'm a self loathing, self loving, contradictory depressant who spends most of my time alone; not because I have nothing to do ever, I just hate people and prefer to sit and think, no matter how sad it makes me. I looked at my wrist only to see that i don't wear watches, and i never have. The only thing decorating my pale arm was a blue and gray friendship bracelet given to me by a once close friend whose positive toned voice gradually turned into the mellow drone of a whisper as her heart dried up and she forgot how to love. We've put our diffenences aside as she realized I've not been acting the same around her. She stopped me on the stairwell and grabbed my arm and said "Please don't hate me, why can't things be like they used to." The only thing I could do was force a smile on my rough unshaven face and say that "everything's fine". I still wear the bracelet because I know that i still have the power to love. But love is a tricky word. There is no set definition to the word Love, it is what we want it to be. It can also mean......."

thats all i got