It was my fifth grade teacher who introduced the idea that writing could be more than a hobby for me.

She's been conned, ruined, left for dead, and she's not going to forgive any of it. She will soldier on, if only out of spite.

It is the face of a girl who has seen the world, who realizes that it hates her, and who hates it in return.

I shake my head, watching snow tumble and swirl from an all-white sky. The world seems so clean if you only look up

I used to have only one name; it used to mean something.

Fate, I think, is a thief.

He gathers me up and I'm weightless before he sets me on the railing. He's the only thing keeping me from falling back, out of the reach of daylight. I'm not afraid of falling. I don't fear the sky beyond the train tracks like I did before. I can go anywhere just so long as it's with him.