No one wants to die.

Questions.

I boot up my old 90s game system. I am very use to being left by my family, this time they just left without warning. When they would come back is a complete mystery to me. I lean back against the old wooden frame of my bed and slowly look around my room, taking note of everything in here again. Old scratched up purple paint, wooden white shelf with three torn stuffed animals, tacky checkered floor. I let out a small sigh, why am I so attached to this room. 

I get up and walk around our old one story house and straight to the kitchen, thinking to myself "Is there something to eat?" I open the fridge and take out some lettuce, than I grab a jar of peanut butter, some fruit loops, and white bread. I put it all together and make as I call it, a weirdo sandwich. I take a bite into the odd sandwich and stare out the window. What has become of my life?