It’s strange isn’t it, how you can be standing in a room full of people and still be absolutely alone. You know what I mean. All you can do is sit there and listen to the conversations other people have, people you wish you were friends with, people you sometimes fool yourself into thinking you’re friends with.

But you’re not.

You don’t know their inside jokes, don’t share their memories, don’t get called when they’re planning on going out. Every time you try to say something, try to participate in casual conversation, your words get lost in the shuffle, aren’t heard, sometimes are downright ignored. And not just by the average kid, by everyone; adults included, sometimes adults in your own family. And sometimes, when you’re ignored enough, you just give up, stop trying. After that, there’s nothing you know how to be but alone.

It’s a twisted web we weave.

I’ve been living in the small rural town of Latyde Illinois for six years, ever since my dad died in a car accident when I was just a little over ten. Before that I lived in a suburb of Chicago with him, and thinking back, I do believe I was happy there.

But I’m not happy anymore. Ever.

It’s not that Latyde is a bad town, really. It’s actually rather charming on the surface. From the white picket fences to the beautiful fountain in town square, every “i” is dotted, and every “t” crossed. They would be, because the majority of the two thousand citizens of Latyde Illinois are some of the most arrogant and vein people you’ll ever meet anywhere, I guarantee it. I’d know, I’m on the outside looking in on every aspect imaginable in this God forsaken place.

I call it Hell, because where else but hell can you find so many skeletons in closets, so many people so lost in their roles as primadonnas that they can’t even see that they’re living a real life teen angst drama?

So, you’re probably wondering how I managed to escape being tainted by this town, having for the most part grown up there; and the fact is that I haven’t. I’ve become just about as jaded as a sixteen year old girl can get. Sure, I’ve managed to stay clear of most of the backstabbing gossip, the cliques, even the drug dealers. But I’m still dying here.

Some things kill you fast, Latyde kills you slow. It covers you, saturating your body and mind, seeping in through every pore and making you feel dirty, like tar might. I honestly think it rots your soul right out of you. You think you’ll get out someday, then it’ll be better. But, one way or another, you’re wrong. Time and time again you see kids who have so much promise in them, so much potential, and they tell themselves that eventually they’ll break free from the town they had the misfortune of being born into. But, for one reason or another, they never do. The saddest part is that they keep telling themselves, “Someday, just not today. Soon, but not now. Eventually, someday, soon.”

Never.

Rarely does a kid from Latyde ever get out if they don’t leave after high school. And by rarely, I mean almost never. They get sucked in, tied down, ensnared in an inescapable trap. They die in Latyde.

I had an advantage in that I wasn’t born there, and I sure as hell didn’t intend to die there. But this story isn’t about me...not entirely, anyway. It’s about a man I met there. He was my first crush, my first obsession, and it didn’t hurt that he was known far and wide as The Latyde Legend. And believe me, he was a legend, even though in the end I was the only one left who truly loved him.

This is the story of the only true hero Latyde ever had. It’s about how he lived, about how he died, and most importantly it’s about how he rose from the ashes in a dazzling blaze of glory to live again.