How in the world was I alone? Because I wanted to be. That's all I can say. It's all that makes sense to me.

Imagine ten or tweleve orange chairs arrainged in a circle, with the happy woen from the flyer sitting at opposite ends. Only problem was, from day one, they weren't happy. Someone, whoever made that flyer, must have digitally turned their frowns upside down. They wrote about death. About the evilness of men. About the destruction of-and I quote- "the greenish, bluish orb with wisps of white." Seriously, that's how they descibed it. They went on to call Earth a knocked-up gaseous alien needing an abortion.

Every reader is different. There's no book that's inappropriate for every person, but there are people who cannot handle everything.

Why would anyone say this stuff about themselves on the Internet? It's crazy!

This time, for the first time, I saw the possibilities in giving up. I even found hope in it.

And concentrating on the spot where the two spindles should be is the closest I get to looking Hannah's eyes as she tells my story.

You don't know what goes on in anyone's life but your own.