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Magarah Tezerra
Community Member
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Another day of my existence. I am positive my body is real, for I feel the cold rain pattering onto me. I'm not sure why I'm standing in the rain, or why I went outside in the first place, but the empty plate in my hand indicates I had dumped something. I'm sure a fox or cat will enjoy the remains of my meal.

Why am I here? I'm here because I was born into this world, and I'll continue to exist until the day I die. But there's so much misery shut in the back doors and closets of my mind, so many cries yearning to be let out, yet I have no voice.

I am myself, but who is that? Is she someone nice and kindhearted? Is she someone anybody would feel cool hanging out with? Just who do I want to be? Existing is one thing, but living is another. I'm not living. I'm not even human, or maybe I am...

My breath escapes me in shivers. I'm soaked. I don't know how long I've been here. Please, somebody find me... before I slip into the darkness of my mind and fall forever through the doors of grief and pain, happiness and betrayal, the finding of false love and false hope, kindling the fire that will burn me until "I" die, I'm no one... I'm no one, but I am here.
NO,

I must keep living. My existence obviously has some purpose in this large and vast universe, kind of like an animal that preys on the weak. I'm not cruel, I'm not a god, and I'm not a fish, so this rain will only make me sick... I'm going back, I'll stay inside for as long as I can in these four walls containing all I have. After all, I have no one, and is there such a thing as "needing" someone?

If I reach out, nobody comes into contact with me. I'm forever ignored by those who were once my peers, my good friends, now people who are out living their own lives, so far ahead of me that I'm jealous. I really don't think anyone cares about poor old me. With that said, I'm starting to wonder... how many people are actually being my friend?




 
 
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