Climbing the rock that would end my life. He kept on climbing, lulled by the sound of my voice. He probably didn't even notice the cold rain pouring down heavily making the rock all slippery. Or the fact that his feet kept falling out from under him and his hands and knees were scraped and bleeding. No, he was compelled to come to the end. That was always what it was going to come to...in the end. How did I think that this boy was going to solve this entire complicated problem on his own? At least he solved my problems, and I didn't even realize that until now. But it doesn't matter anyways, now that I'm going to die.
Wait. Time out. This is no way to start a story, now is it? Of course it's not. You can't start a story in the end. You have to start from the beginning. I'm not going to start from the very beginning, just from one particularly important part of my life. I'm Dana Wylde and this is my story..........
