In the dark recesses of my mind lives a demon. He is hungry, he doesn’t eat food though, what he eats is something far more valuable, life. Now as I sit here putting down what is certain to be my last thoughts I regret what I did to those that were only trying to help. Or should I regret? The people only say they’re only trying to help when they are meaning to do the opposite. I feel no regret. I feel only weakness, weakness as the demon sucks everything out of me. Good Bye to those that only tried to help. Good Bye to those that told me they meant no good, I liked these people better. They never lied to me, they never put on masks and stabbed me when I wasn’t looking. Now It is I who hold the knife and it is I who no longer has to put up with the deceivers.

And as the note ends so does the life of the writer. The dagger did its work to the fullest extent and now there was a dead man to show its work. The room darkens as night falls. The sun come up and with it new life. No longer in the room of the cold dead writer but in a child’s room. The room of life and potential. A room where anything is possible. No knifes or letters of death in this room. Posters of various idols, singers, actors, the like in which you would find in a room where a child resides.

What connects the two people together? Why is any of this significant? The answer is a line. A very very thin line. Maybe the writer was related to the child. Maybe he was a teacher in which the child to had sit in a class. It would all be very simple to connect dots, trace lines and put together formulas, but as I said before it is only a line. Nothing more nothing less. One line doesn’t make a very good connect the dots, at least not in my opinion.

Now I can’t turn back time and tell you what drove the man off the edge, all I can tell you is the story that follows will not make any sense but those who finish it will know why there is now one less writer and one more kid who hates his parents. Why would you want to read this. You wouldn’t, there is really nothing that will change your life here. Just my recollection of current events.

He hoped down the stairs, down further and further like always, two at a time. The sound of parents talking about nothing and news on the TV. Sneaking out without breakfast was a feat that would not be all that hard. A turn of the handle, the quiet creak of the old door and then the almost inaudible sound of the click of the door shutting. Breakfast, the most important meal of the day indeed. All ready he has done more than he had ever done with it. Breakfast just slows you down.

He walks down to the sidewalk and realizes he really didn’t save a lot of time only a few seconds. But maybe that few seconds saved his life. Because as he walked toward his destination a branch fell from the tree just behind him. Had that hit him he would in the least be unconscious probably cut bad. But that hadn’t happened, and all he could think of as he turned to look at it was “If I had eaten breakfast that would’ve fallen on me.” But then he caught himself thinking what if he had ate breakfast would the branch still have fallen at all? That thought occupied his mind and it must have been why he hadn’t noticed he was in the street. And when the blaring of the horn pierced his thoughts not even he, more agile than most the other felines in his class, could dodge it.