There was this boy who wanted more in the world to be someone, something but all he got was nothing in return. He could feel as if his life was fading fast and that nothing could stop it. He tried so many times to counter act it but to only fail. Failure was one of his biggest opponents and the one that he dreaded the most. Most days he would sit around in his room remembering how he looked up to his heroes that he admired and how he wanted to be just life them. People told him that he didn't need to dream but live in the real world where he must go with the ways of society.

He did just that when he got older and got as job at an old factory doing a crappy job for crap pay. He would go home every day with money in his pocket but something he missed. He missed of how he longed for something more. He wasn't for sure what it was as if he had forgotten what he wanted to do. He would sit at home in his apartment just staring at the wall, crying himself to sleep asking over and over is this how life was suppose to be.

In his life he never really had anyone push him to be great but only pulling him down into the darkness. It was the darkness, which was now a part of him. He never really had the perfect life but it wasn't all that great either.

His aunt that he lived with did nothing but shun him down telling him he wasn't good enough when others said he was good. But when he was clouded with this every day in and out by his aunt, all he felt was that the darkness creeping in. He felt as if he couldn't do anything to please them, to show them that he was different and wanted to achieve great things. But all they told him was to grow up and that the dream was nothing more than a fantasy. A fantasy that they said he shouldn't be living in.

He wondered if that what life was really nothing but darkness. He remembered that a person once told him that life was what you make of it. He wished he go back in time and try to surround him with people that encouraged him and not bring him down. He wished that he could but only knew that it was a pipe dream to think that one could go back in time to change such things.

He stopped his crying, wiping away the tears that he brought on. He pulled up a chair to his desk and pulled out an ice cold beer. These were his choice was to write or drink until he passed out and repeat the same day over and over. He didn't know which one to choose but he wished it would end. A dream he felt that never came. A dream that had been taken away from him all those years ago by those that he deemed his enemy. This dream he wanted was now all in his head, mind. But sometimes one can dream even when they are old. Of course he wondered which one to choose, the beer, the writing, or least tries to end it all. He sat there; he pondered, and then finally gave to a decision. He reached for it and that was it.