Hello all! okay so this is a revise of the first chapter. It was too short, and I don't think you got it at all. It is still a little short, but I think that you will find it more interesting than the last one. So here it is...


To feel the wonderful breeze in the air. To see the dancing stars at night. To take in the sweet aroma of the evening's fresh air. What wonders could happen in only one night.

Yet, some tragedies can happen as well.

If I could make one wish, pray one prayer, sing one song, I know what I would focus it on. If I could see one pair of eyes, they would be those bluish-grey ones. If I could touch one last thing, it would be those silky strands of blonde hair. If I could choose one last request, it would be to kiss him.

That boy on the motorcycle.

It's true; I don't even know him, yet I feel as if I have born a strange bond with him. His icy eyes, they seemed to stare straight through my soul. Have you ever had one of those moments? That you just look at someone you have never met for one brief second, perhaps split second, and when you meet their eyes, you just feel a deep connection.

A connection that seems to last forever.

I remember that day clearly. I saw him, sprawled out on the ground, icy eyes staring blankly into the sky. His blond tresses blackened with soot, his soft face matted with deep scars. I cannot even begin to tell you the horror and the shock of seeing so much blood.

The blood. . .the blood. . .

I tried to be brave; I tried to show him that I was not scared, no matter what. But I was scared to death. To see a human sprawled onto the floor, their eyes slowly dimming into nothing.

I took his hand; don't tell me it wasn't real! I took his hand and held it against my chest. I tried to save his life, but his heart beat was already faint when I got there.

I am not crazy; I felt his skin, I tasted his blood, I saw his dying body.

I tried . . . I tried. . .

I looked into his eyes, and I felt an instant bond. I felt something indescribable, something that is only left for me and the dead boy to tell.

Or is he really dead . . .?

Not that it matters; no one believes me. I told my father, and he told me it was just an illusion. I tried to talk with my mother; she laughed. They tried to "bring me to my senses", but I know what I saw, and I know what happened. You don't just see dying boys; you don't just taste death like that.

Finally, they took me to a doctor. He suggested that I stay in a dark room for one month. So here I am, in a dark room, my memories the only company I have. The memories of the dying boy on the motorcycle. . .the memories of the pool of blood he was lying in.

I don't ever want to forget the touch of his warm, pale hands, and his soothing kiss. I don't know how I could respond to those who tell me that I am delusional, or that I need help.

I am perfectly fine. I am just happy that I met someone who I can communicate with, even though we never spoke a word during our brief encounter.

I am not delusional, nor a mental. It was real, no matter what everyone else says. I won't give up; I have to see him again. . .I have to touch him again!

Well, I just can't bring myself to tell you how much I have been thinking about him. I start to shake just thinking about his mysterious ways. His cool attitude.

Too bad I met him in my dream.

And so, I shall begin my story