The Problem is Me [EDITED)

Chapter 16

November, 2014

I stared into the darkness of the sickeningly lonely bedroom; I wasn’t focusing on anything in particular, just staring. The night was deadly silent as the never-ending ticking of the clock synchronized with the beating of my heart; it would have been melodic if I had bothered to think about it. 

We are all born to die. That’s the only guarantee anyone can give you, that’s the only guarantee I can give you.

When someone is born, they are born for a purpose. God- or whoever is up there- put them on this Earth for a reason. Each person has a destiny, I guess, and live so they can leave their own imprint in this world. We all leave an imprint when we die. Big or small, but we all make differences in other people’s lives. They can be good or bad changes, or just little things that no one would remember in their lifetime.

But when we die, our whole life is replayed before us, and we watch. We then see what imprint we had left on others.

In the end people are often left with the hardest choice of them all, to live, or to die. 

But when someone is killed, they didn’t get to complete their life mission. They had an unfinished destiny. They got cheated. That’s not fair, but everyone says life isn’t fair, and I guess they’re right. I think when you kill someone, not only did you demolish that person’s life, and the people around you, but you kill a piece of yourself.

You really do lose all the good inside you, even if this person deserved it. You never look at the world the same way, knowing that you took someone’s life by choice. You lose the meaning of the word love, and how precious life really is. Believe me, because I’ve seen people who have killed before, and even though they deserved to burn in Hell, the killers still lost a part of themselves. They lost what it meant to grow. 

It's not that they feel guilty, or they regret it, but it's just simply losing the good from inside of you.

I got took back to my room earlier and made to clean myself up – the blood which was all over my hands wasn’t very tasteful I presume. I don’t really know what to do with myself; it’s been four hours and twenty seven minutes since I moved from this spot on the floor and I don’t intend on moving any time soon.

The blood was still all over me and my hair was still wet from dunking it under the water in the sink, I wanted to see if it would bring me back to reality like it did in the movies. Shock horror, it didn’t. 

Words cannot even begin to explain how I felt in that moment; I felt like someone had taken a machete and agonizingly slowly dipped it into my stomach. 

I don’t think it has completely set in that Evan is really dead yet, I know that because I’m still expecting him to stroll into the room with an obnoxious amount of cake in his mouth and trying to get me to open up to him. 

I put him above everyone else, but never above myself. I'm trying to keep myself believing that, but lets just say that if someone were to ask me to die for him, I have no idea if I would or not. I probably wouldn't have. 

Evan would always be doing something annoying, like poking me or flicking me until I gave him a reaction. He’d always try and tell me poetic things like how I smelled of coffee with three sugars because that’s all I ever drink, but he couldn’t seem to quite grasp the understanding of how I was still tired all the time. 

Maybe if I drink another coffee, I’ll feel better.

I’m not saying I feel guilty in the slightest for Evan’s death, because I really don’t.