I wish I could tell my parents, " If you want to help me, help me die.

Cut the ending. Revise the script. The man of her dreams is a girl.

I hear you. I just don't believe a word you say.

There's no reason to speak. I have nothing to say.

I've never been afraid of the dark. I'm more afraid of the day, of people. I love the night. The solitude. Well, I don't love it. I don't feel love. I hate people, so I hope when I get there it isn't crowded. I hope the light is a momentary phenomenon and the other side is completely black. And silent.

I think about my choice. Either outcome is bleak. If I stay and live through high school, go to college, get a job, what will ever change? This blackness inside will never go away. I don't make friends; I'll always be alone. If I go, at least there's hope of peace. Chance of a new and better life on the other side.

You still have," I looked at my watch, "twelve seconds to change your mind. Find someone else and save your reputation." One side of his lip cricked up. "I found you. I'll take my chances.