I fear age, I fear growing old. Maybe that's why, no, no, I guess it can't be that simple. Could it be that I've just lost the will to live. It's understandable. Not everyone asked for this, life isn't that special. For all I know, I'm going to go off myself and then I'll just be reborn into another hell of a life. How fucked up would that be? Makes me kind of not want to pull the trigger. Why bother if you're just going to have to do it again.

Do I believe in God? His holiness. The enlightened one. God, what sick kind of fuck made that up in his head. Then that sick kind of fuck goes around telling people about him, and then a bunch of people come together and decide to write a book about him. I've read parts of it, boring shit. Really boring. My parents were the kind of people that thought they should take their children to church every Sunday. They never went before they had children, never were that religious, but I guess that they at least wanted their children enlightened. Maybe we could be saved. Saved from what? I ask. The drugs, sex, and abuse. Maybe just the fact that we went would secure us a place in heaven. I never questioned God as a child, I had no reason to.

As we grow old we learn. Death happens. I didn't cry at my own mother's funeral. Sure, it was a sad event, but some small part of your mind kept whispering, these things happen, it's just the fucked up way of saying you're old, no one wants you anymore. Yeah, there's that age thing again. If I could have kept any age I wanted, it would have been nineteen. That was a good year.

This hasn't been the first time I'd been sitting with my life in hand. No, I believe it started around age sixteen. Slitting the wrists. Probably would've gone through with it if I wouldn't have been so scared. What if I just didn't exist anymore, what if there was no afterlife? Before I actually tried, I tested the pain on my arm. Slicing little cuts along my arm. Stupid friends. They saw. Frightened out of my mind, I promised I'd stop. Trying to get better, I began to be happy, even if it wasn't real. Fake happiness was better than the reality of death. So close.

No longer would I put on my fake smile. No longer would I try and pretend. I wasn't happy and I wouldn't pretend to be happy. After I turned eighteen and moved out of the house, I lost myself. I moved away, went to college on the west coast. Changing, I left everything behind. My friends, my stuff, my hair, my body. Everything. Going to the gym everyday, I became a muscle, getting rid of the bulb around my stomach. I cut my hair. I basically changed everything. How did I lose so much? What went wrong?

Inside I was numb. Nothing could affect me anymore. I didn't flinch anymore; I just stood there and took what was coming. There was pain, deep down inside my chest, a huge hold growing bigger and bigger. Consuming me whole, until I was the hole inside my chest.

A couple of trucks, semis probably, rushed by on the vacant highway behind me sending vibrations through the ground. Rocks around me jumped around in their spots, the first movement in hours. Those trucks were the first to pass since I had arrived here. Here, where was it again? Not that it mattered. Thinking back, I remembered almost something vaguely familiar about this place. This place was nothing special, sitting in the middle of nowhere. I think Canada. No, it couldn't have been that far, I had to at least have been in the U.S still. But like it said, it didn't matter. Because nothing matters. As I sit up, still dizzy from the booze the night before, I realize I'm by the sea. The salty air splashed in my face. My eyes stare at the gun in my hand. Goodbye cruel world, I say in my mind. So lost inside myself, I can't even find the words to speak. My eyes scan the area, how could I think I was even near Canada. Because all I can see is dry desert, nothing for miles. Well there is one exception, my broken motorcycle sitting about ten miles one way. Which way? I have no idea anymore. Holding the gun up to my head I try and think of a reason why this is bad. But the funny thing was, I couldn't think of one. Weird, planning this out almost over a week ago, well not planning but just thinking about it, I had come up with several reasons not to but now nothing. It felt right, the weight of the gun in my hand.

Someone was coming, a loud roar of an engine approached. I knew if that someone saw, they may act all noble and try and stop me. But even if they tried I'd be too late. From the corner of my eye, I watched as a woman in leather riding a motorcycle came cruising closer and closer. Her figure was disorientated with the heat waves rising from the ground. Her long blond hair blew in the air behind her, tassels on her handle bars flew back like her hair. Behind a huge pair of dark sunglasses, I could tell there was a beautiful set of eyes. I wanted her to leave, she was interrupting. This wasn't something for spectators; I wanted to do this alone. Alone, god dammit! And I was ready for it now, she was making me suffer, making me bear the pain which consumed me. As the woman neared, I could tell she would stop. She stared at me under her big black glasses. Sweat trickled down my forehead; it must have been one hundred and twenty at least. The woman rode her bike to a stop directly behind me. I couldn't see her. I wasn't going to move, I only saw her before because I looked from the corner of my eyes. I could hear her getting off of the motorcycle, I wondered if she left it in the rode, or just pulled to the side. Did she take off her riding gloves and glasses, or was she planning on leaving right away. "What are you doing?" she asks. I don't say anything; I just stare out into the ocean. It's so blue, clear, with the sun reflecting off of it. And it's lucky, it gets to last forever. From behind I hear a lighter, smell the smoke of a cigarette. That smell, familiar. Smoking since the age of sixteen. "Do you want to pull the trigger or are you just going to sit there all day? Because I've got things to do." I still don't move, I don't try to talk, I know the dark cloud around me is suffocating me. "Listen, hurry up. I want to watch!" the lady said almost yelling at me.

Finally something snapped. No. This woman wouldn't do this to me. I wanted to do this alone. I wanted to suffer in the darkness alone, or be saved. I wasn't exactly sure what would happen once I was gone, but I didn't want to find out with her. Turning, I glared back at her. She was leaning against her motorcycle smoking. Watching from beneath those dark shades. "Go away," I say staring into her eyes beneath the glasses. "I want to die alone. I don't like people. I want to be alone." I repeat the words in my head. I want to be alone. I want to be alone. Why? I ask somewhere in the back of my mind. Because the world is cruel. I don't want to be another one of those puppets, following everyone else. I just want it all to end.

"Fuck, if you won't do it, I can. I've killed people before. Got my own gun too if you want." She says it like everyone should know. She reaches back and pulls a gun out of her pants. "But I think that maybe you should wait. Hold off on pulling that trigger. I'll show you something that will make you pull that trigger ten times faster. I'll show you the time of your life. Because you have no life, it should be easy. Easy as just getting you laid, but that's just temporary pleasure. No, I'm talking about bringing those two legs to life and using them. Maybe you could even smile. But it won't be a happy smile; it would be a smile of death. A wicked smile, because I'm going crazy, and I think I'm going to take you with me." I stare at her. What the fuck? What is she talking about? I don't think I understood what she said at all, so I ask what. Which is stupid, because she only opens up those deep red lips again. "My name, let's not give real names, because those aren’t our names anymore. We are dead. We are lost souls. And we just don't care. I plan to die sometime before I turn thirty. Let's just say I'm twenty two. And that's the truth. So we could just sit here and put a bullet in our brains, or we could go show the world how mad we are. We could live without any rules." She started out about something with a name. The whole time I sat there waiting for it. Listening to her little speech waiting for a name and she doesn't give one. Not one name. The heat must be making me crazy, there is no woman here, it's just my mind. I turn back to face the ocean, the salt still hitting my face, making my eyes burn red. Crazy, I guess I am.

"But, I know a way we can last forever. Forever doesn't come easily, but we can reach it." Turning back I look to see a wicked smile spread across her face.

We kill the world only to find the world killed us.