Sometimes I'd catch myself looking at my reflection in windows and wonder who I was. Where I was going. Then the image would change and it wouldn't be me, just some nebulous shadow person.

I close my eyes and black out the day. The exhaustion of living through it, surviving.

As they were carting him off on a gurney, all I could think was, I wish that was me.

I'm scared. What will tomorrow bring? It has to be better than today. It has to.

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 got singled out. I don't know why. Why do people always target me? Is it because I'm short and they figure I can't fight back? They're right, I can't, but it's not because I'm vertically challenged.

Secrets. I can't take then with me. If I do, when I go, when I arrive at my final destination, I'll be . . . impure.