Even at our birth, death does but stand aside a little. And every day he looks towards us and muses somewhat to himself whether that day or the next he will draw nigh. I heard that from Robert Bolt, and I agree with it.

Some people think I'm strange. It's apparent really, that my friends fear me a little. They don't know what I'm going to say or do. Constantly trying to make me "normal," they say things to cheer me up or get my mind off certain topics. "Oh, Aviah," they say, false eagerness and real worry lacing their voices, "you have got to come to the mall with us this afternoon!" or "I saw the cutest pink dress that would look absolutely adorable on you, Aviah!" Obviouslt, they have no idea what I'm like, and I've already tried explaining myself. I hate the color pink with a passion. It's ugly, hyper, and distracting. We shouldn't go off and spend our life savings on an immodest tiny pink dress because we'd look cute or adorable in it. There are much more important things in life.

The first outfit I wore after I was born was a little black outfit that my mom had made by herself during her pregnancy. I haven't worn black since my mother died a week after giving birth to me. My dad must have packed it away somewhere during his period of sorrow. Not that I'm telling you to be sorry for me or anything, because I think my mom's in a better place now. I just like to keep a little thing to myself to remember her by, even if I don't really remember her. So I wear deep, colorful clothes, with varying shades of blues, greens, and purples.

I don't waste my time on worrying too much about what I wear. I don't really care if I'm not the most popular person in the school. I listen to rock and enjoy writing and singing. Having a few friends is all I can ask. I had more when I was little, but they drifted away.

Ever since I first started high school, I have realized just how different my thoughts are from others. They all think about stupid material things, not noticing how much some of their own were slipping, slipping into the darkness. Not eally paying attention to anything but their own lives, they don't realize that that number of suicides this month was for this school.

They don't get that we don't all lead perfect little lives. Some people can't afford to shop at the most expensive stores. Some people just don't want to. They don't realize that what they have is so very much compared to others. They don't realize that those bruises aren't really from falling down the stairs or tripping over a rug. They can't or won't notice that those words and actions, all those things they do and say, really do hurt us.

When one of us disappears, when someone dies, when another fades effortlessly into the merciful darkness, they don't care. The person wasn't one of their friends, so why should they care? Whay should they care about anyone who's different? Not their race? Not in the same social group? Not at the same income level? Not with the same attitude? Not worth it.

What they don't realize is that we are who we are, and who we are is the essence of what we are, and we are all humans. They don't realize that we are all brother and sisters, sons and daughters, neighbors and friends, on this little rock in space. You may die 50 years from now, one year from now, one month, or a day. You never know. He does not reveal His plans to us. Why can't they see that their lives are pointles if they don't stepping up ther game? Why can't they see that by ruining someone's life, they are ruining their own path to eternal life in heaven?

They can't see past the outside differences in people so they just don't see them. They weren't aware of Kelly. They didn't notice Mark. They won't see me.

I guess Bishop Hall thought a little like Robert Bolt when he said "Death borders upon our birth, and our cradle stands in the grave. Our birth is nothing but our death begun."

If this is what life is, then I don't care to continue. I was born into black, I will be buried in black, and I will finally be able to rest in my precious darkness.