• He was gone. Just like that. He had been there only a second ago. And only a second ago, seemed like hours ago. At least, to me it did. At least, that's how I felt. Only mere seconds ago. Only mere hours ago. Only mere years ago.

    I was simply visiting. I needed to talk to someone and no one was in the house. So I went to him. If I hadn't gone, he would still be here. If I hadn't had gone, they both would be alive right now. If I hadn't of gone . . . I would've still suffered either way. Now that I think about it, I guess it was the best to go.

    But anyways, when I got there, my eyes nearly bleed and my heart nearly stopped. There he was, his arms wrapped around that person I once called friend. There she was, her lips against those I once called mine. There they were, acting as if I wasn't there at all.

    I scarcely remember what happened next, but there was blood. He screamed, watching her die. A slap was sent across my face. He screamed in pain, his blood forever tainting my hands. The clanking of the knife hitting the floor of the apartment. Hours later, the police coming to aid, when there was really no one in need, anymore at least.

    I remember the jacket. That jacket has been forever bound into my skin. It keeps me from doing any harm. It's uncomfortable, but it helps. The white room. The room that created my depression. The white walls suddenly seeping with blood, making me scream every night and day.

    His eyes glaring at me. "What have I done wrong?" I always ask it. Why does it never reply? I've always wondered that. Then her eyes, those eyes that seduced him. Those eyes that led to their own death. Really, it wasn't my fault.

    Depression seeped into my skin, slowly making it's way into my blood-stream. The pain was intense, but I let it win over me. Finally, after passing through the first two layers of my being, it seeped into my bones, making it hard to walk, to move. Tragic really. Then, I accepted it into my soul, my heart, my being consumed by the darkness.

    I didn't mind it at all. It took away the blood from the walls. After a while I just learned to ignore their eyes and glaring at me. In fact, I felt completely fine. I was myself again. It was wonderful being tied up in a small room with no light for three years. Yep, I was perfectly fine.

    Then it happened. A knock came at my door one day. I didn't answer. I couldn't really. "Elizabeth, you have a visitor." Then, then it was the most horrifying thing I had seen. His face. His body. His eyes.

    There he was, the man I used to love, now standing before me. His hair faded a bit, it was a little lighter than before. He was thinner too. His eyes were full of sorrow and . . . regret. Well, it should be. Hell, he shouldn't even had loved her. It wasn't real.

    "Elizabeth, please listen to me." I didn't. I barely even stayed in the room. I quickly shot up and kneed him in the stomach and darted out into the halls, heading in every direction I could. I sprinted through the maze of halls towards the exit. I was free.

    Freedom. At long last I was free again. The coat dropped from my small frame and crumbled to the ground. But I stopped. I was free, but I stopped. I didn't know why, but an urge in my heart told me too. Was it something other than the insanity talking to me. I closed my eyes and listened, if not only or a second.

    "He made a mistake. But so did you. Now you're even."


    BANG!


    I was gone. Just like that. I stood right here in this spot mere years ago. Mere years ago, my depression created insanity.


    Oh well.