Well, here it is. The long awaited chapter to Endless. Sorry it's been so long. My comp had a virus, I had to get it taken in, and everything was corrupted so every document on Microsoft Word was destroyed. Blah. Including Wolfheart and Darkheart. Yeah. If you get a chance, check out my new story. It's called, The Verge of Insanity, the Brink of Reality. It's a little different from what I usually do, but maybe you guys will like it. If you do read it, make sure to review. Oh, and review this one, too!


I walked home with the normal sounds in the background—cars passing, police sirens, wind whistling. So many things I'd heard before. So many things I was getting bored of but had nothing to do about. There was such rage that I could feel building up in my core, but in addition to that, I knew I was too controlled to get angry. Experience got so boring after a while as well. The realization that life isn't exactly as great as some say, and the irony of the situation mixed in with the saying 'Life is short' amused me, though only for a few seconds.

A few seconds that were slowly changing into minutes, and those minutes changing into hours. The hours dragged on into days. Days to weeks, weeks to months, months to years. Then the years stretched out endlessly into eternity, which I would never be able to escape from. I might as well just sleep in a coffin the rest of the world's existence. Of course, I'll probably be around past then, too. Helplessly floating into space while God stands up from the heavens and mocks my curse, which he ultimately forced upon me. Who else could have? It was obviously his doing. The devil never made any contribution to the making of man…at least, not as far that I know of. And while I floated in space, not needing an ounce of oxygen to survive, or food for that matter, I would stay envious of those that rested above in heaven. In fact, I would probably be envious of the lowest of humans whom suffered in the clutches of Hell for all and eternity. Though, maybe it was an exaggeration. Maybe I deserved this life. Maybe I'd done something so horrible before the time that I could remember that I was thrust into purgatory as a result. But if so, why didn't God just send me to Hell?

So many questions. So many worthless, useless questions that I'd come across throughout the fraction of what eternity I had left to live. If eternity could be divided at all. The concept of time never really had a particular place in my mind that held any interest. No matter what time I had to figure that concept out, there wouldn't be any benefit to finding out its true meaning, its true purpose and resolution.

As I neared my apartment, I smelled the scent of what seemed to be smoke. Something was burning.

Then I looked up.



Not my apartment. Did God just do this to me so that I could suffer? I thought He created all things here on earth out of his love and affection for the living. Was it all a lie? Was I the exception? Did He love everyone except me?

Stupid people. Stupid, ignorant people who lived in the same apartment as me. How hard is it to actually live life without making rookie mistakes like burning your own home. Not to mention living in an apartment where other people lived! Namely, me.

I started running, the door was open and there was a small crowd of people standing outside of the apartment complex. All had nervous, concerned looks on their faces. Then a lady in the crowd pointed up and screamed, "There's someone still in there!"

I groaned, then, with all the willpower I had to move my feet, I sprinted through the open doorway, raced up the stairs, and shielded my eyes from the smoked that rose from burning wood, remembering to stay low. It wasn't really hard for me to move through the building. The actual challenge in the matter was finding exactly where this person in trouble was. So many demoralizing thoughts that staggered in my head attacked me, trying to convince me to just give it up and let the person die. But then my jealousy kicked in. I wouldn't allow anyone to be prone to such a luxury on my account. They would have to live through their boring life first. It's the least they could do after my suffering body wasted time trying to save them.

I heard a faint shriek from a floor above. My long legs bound up the stairs, skipping three steps at a time.

"Where are you?" I called out in question.

At first, nothing. I sighed.

"Scream again!" I shouted.

There was another shriek, but it was even more faint than before. This woman was losing oxygen, though not for long since I realized the room she was trapped in. It was the second of five doors lined up consecutively along one thin hallway, where the floor was partly set aflame.

I ran at it, sure that the wood was weakened due to it's burnt state, and the fact that nothing can really hold me back.

Most of the door broke off, some of it still attached to the hinges, but it was enough for me to get through.

Once in the room, I could see why someone might not be able to scream in it's atmosphere—the air was thick and heavy, with a very low level of oxygen. I searched for where anyone might be. The living room was empty, though almost completely ablaze.

"Where are you?!" I shouted on the top of my lungs.

I heard whimpers coming from behind the bar counter of the kitchen where the ceiling had falling down in a gigantic mess, which was surrounded in little flames here and there that had caught at the circular rug in the center. Then I noticed the woman. She lay limp, with both of her legs under the pile of fallen ceiling. I guessed she was near unconsciousness, if not already unconscious.

I hesitated for a moment, wondering how I was going to get her out from under the pile. Then, I realized I didn't have to worry about pain because she wouldn't feel anything at the moment, unless she really was conscious, but I highly doubted it.

I bent down and grabbed under her arms, lifting her out with a slight struggle, though ultimately freeing her fettered legs. Now that I could see her face, I noticed that she was most likely in her mid twenties, fair skin with thin, pink lips and long, dark eyelashes. Her cheekbones were high, yet completely nondescript, and her hair was jet black, though I could see it slightly charred at the edges.

Then, realizing that she probably couldn't withstand the lack of oxygen anymore, unlike me, I shot through the hole in the door, seeing how badly the fire had already spread in a matter of minutes. It frustrated me, though I shot through them and hurdled over the piles of fallen ceiling until I got to the second floor, which wasn't nearly as bad as the higher ones. There was more oxygen to breathe here.

For a second, I contemplated doubling back to grab some things in my apartment, but nothing in there was important to me. I didn't keep any money or things of sentimental value in there. Instead, I hurriedly took the unconscious woman down the stairs to the first floor and out the building to the annoying, nervously awaiting crowd.