A/N: Written for the Review Game's January WCC. The title is from Green Day, but nothing else. This was really experimental, and I hope it worked.

Ten seconds ago (or ten years ago), your angel slammed the door and then it was just you, a stuffed bear, a piece of chalk, and the far wall. It was cold in the room, colder than it should have been. But you were getting rushes of heat anyway.

(And the first time you met, you were dangling your feet over the edge, and he was saying it might be nice to fall)

The wall was coated in peoples' last attempts at being remembered, all names and dates and hearts. Pretty names, unusual names, two names together that had been scratched out. You figured you knew when they had been scratched out—when the people realized they were dead. Like you were starting to do.

(You two put your lock on the bridge that you met on, and it was raining so hard on him in his retarded t-shirt, and you could see right through it and after the lock was on he pulled you close and kissed you, water from his hair running down your face like tears)

You didn't want to beg like them. If you were going to be remembered it wouldn't be because of a name on a wall (or a lock on the side of a bridge). You didn't want to give in, didn't want to pick up the chalk and write your name. But maybe you could write his, eventually.

So you had a staring competition with the stuffed bear. You didn't know why they gave you one. You were old enough not to need it. Honestly, though, it was hard not to hug that stupid bear close and cry into it.

(And you ripped the paper off of the lumpy package, the lights of his Christmas tree warming you up, and you pulled out the cutest damn stuffed animal ever, and you looked at him for an explanation and he told you it was for when he was gone)

You named the bear Liam after one of your only remaining memories (the name you screamed when he was there, the name you cried when he was gone, the last word you ever said) and you sang it a love song, spinning around in pure boredom.

(You used to sing to him, he told you that you sounded like a celebrity or maybe an angel)

After five minutes (or fifty years), you looked at Liam, picked him up, and gently placed him in the corner. Then you patted him on the head and laid down on the cold floor.

(When you found him he was so goddamn out of it that you had to drag him out of the middle of your empty street and call an ambulance, and then he looked at you with bright eyes, and he put a cold hand on your cheek, and he told you he loved you)

You took the chalk, thinking that maybe something had to be remembered—not you. First you wrote his name. And then you drew a window on the wall and stared through it, and you thought that maybe you should draw something behind it, because it was just wall.

(You sat in the waiting room, kicking the chair next to you with your unstrapped heels and feeling stupid in your party dress)

But you didn't want to, because the chalk had dropped from your hand, and you didn't want to pick it up. So you pressed against the imaginary glass, hoping for a glimpse of something amazing. Maybe his face. Or maybe another world.

(When you were allowed to see him, he was close to gone, and he couldn't tell you he loved you, couldn't speak, so you told him you loved him, tracing his tattoos, and pretty soon it was over)

And then your angel opened the door, and he told you it was time to go to heaven. You didn't look at him, just kept your hands against the cold wall.

You said you thought you might stay here, resting your head against your imaginary window.

And so you spent endless eternities at the window, and you never saw a single thing.

(And you sat dangling your feet over the edge, lock in your hand, and you heard his voice saying that it might be nice to fall, and you agreed)

A/N: Feedback is appreciated! And if you liked it, after the 7th you can head over to the RG to vote!